


Felicity Takes a Holiday

by BstnStrg13



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Beauty and the Beast (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 99,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BstnStrg13/pseuds/BstnStrg13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frustrated by Oliver's apparent indifference, Felicity takes a solo trip to NYC where she meets with unexpected dangers.  Is it super-soldiers amped up on Mirakuru, or Beasts created by Muirfield?  Starts at the end of Season 2; a story of how Oliver comes to realize that he is in love with Felicity, told with help from CW's Beauty and the Beast and a whole lot of Diggle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like all good Olicity shippers, I was delighted to see Oliver sort out his feelings and realize in Season 3 that he loves Felicity. However, we never really got to see his process of self-discovery. In Season 2 he was oblivious to, or at least ambiguous about, his feelings for her. In Season 3, he was doling out "I love you's." It felt abrupt. I wanted a story of how he got there...and so this emerged.

J.T. Forbes wasn't certain what made him think attending the hacking convention in mid-town Manhattan was a good idea. Sure it was New York City, just a few blocks away from home and, yes, he was spending more time these days trying to patch into city surveillance cameras and NYPD alerts. When your best friend is wanted, first by some evil secret agency turning ordinary men into super-soldiers and later by the NYPD itself, you do whatever you can to stay one step ahead. But he was a biochemist, for God's sake, not a computer specialist. All this talk of bumper keys and botnets was way over his head.

And the geekiness! J.T. would be the first to admit he was something of a geek himself. You don't get to be a biochem professor without the ability to appreciate a good carbon atom electron double bond. But this hacking convention was taking geek to a whole new level. The auditorium was packed with an audience that was at least 95 percent male and seemed to fall into two groups; pale and painfully skinny or, pale and soft and doughy. And was there anyone who wasn't wearing glasses?

Of course, he was wearing them himself, but his at least looked like they were purchased in the twenty-first century. And on the physical spectrum, he was neither painfully skinny nor soft and doughy. He was tall, dammit, and he was seeing an equally tall, hot NYPD detective who, on a good day, might admit to being his girlfriend. He had left her only that morning, stretched out in his bed in a blissful stupor. He was pretty sure no one else in the room had been laid in the last five years.

Yup, J.T. was definitely out of his element. He was glad he had secured a seat near the back of the auditorium. If the conference didn't start getting more comprehensible in the next five minutes he was leaving, attendance fee be damned. There were too many better ways to be spending his time – sorting his socks, for example, or cleaning the bathroom. As if to mock him, the speaker starting spouting some new gibberish about AES encryption, the Rijndael cipher and the vulnerabilities of symmetric-key algorithms. J.T. shrugged, gathered his notepad and turned to rise from his seat. Before he could actually stand, however, the door at the back opened and a new attendee slipped quietly into the room.

J.T. abruptly sat back down.

His first thought was that she must have entered the wrong conference and it would be worth hanging around just to observe her reaction to the high concentration of geeks threatening to dispel NYC's reputation as a cool city. She really didn't fit in with this crowd.

First of all, she was undoubtedly a _she_ – from the top of her long, blonde ponytail to the tips of her brightly painted toes encased in spiky, sexy sandals. She also was neither skinny nor doughy, but instead was trim, slightly curvy, and toned without being bulky. A tennis player, perhaps, or maybe a regular in a soccer league. Her complexion was beautiful, on the fair side without the sickly paleness of most of the geeks in the room. Okay, she was wearing glasses too, but on her they were a fashion accessory and not a badge of nerdiness. And those legs…well, her short, stylish dress exposed a pair that would make the heart of any heterosexual male beat faster.

And the males in the room (and maybe even the few females as well) were definitely watching, despite her efforts to make a quiet entrance. Pretty much every head in the last five rows turned to observe her as she paused in the aisle, scanning the room for an empty chair. There was a collective, audible intake of breath – a simultaneous sound of disbelief and hope. J.T. was sure this was the closest any one of the geeks had gotten to a pretty woman in, well, their entire adult lives. The pink flush on her cheeks suggested that she was aware of being an object of attention and wasn't entirely happy about it. Even the speaker seemed to lose his place for a minute, giving her a thoughtful and surprised glance before returning to his notes.

J.T. expected the woman to make an about-face and a beeline for the door – there was no way she was a computer geek - but instead, she slid quickly into the nearest open seat, a couple of rows up from him. She gave a brief nod to the attendee next to her then focused her attention on the speaker. The rest of room reluctantly followed suit.

The geek on J.T.'s left emitted a deep sigh. "Wow," he breathed, "do you think that's really her?"

It took J.T. a minute to figure out the guy was talking to him. He'd originally come to the conference hoping to hook up with someone who might help him improve his hacking skills. After the first hour, however, he'd abandoned that idea and switched to doing his best to avoid eye contact with any of the attendees. For starters, they all seemed more competitive than helpful. And secondly, even if they were inclined to assist, he really couldn't see himself hanging out with them for beers after hours. Even he had his standards.

Now that the guy next to him was actually speaking, however, J.T. figured it couldn't hurt to at least acknowledge him. The fellow fell into the painfully skinny category and J.T. didn't think he could be more than 25, despite his lank, thinning hair.

"Who?" J.T. asked, "Who do you think it is?"

"Felicity Smoak." The name was said with the same reverence New Yorkers usually reserved for Derek Jeter or Mariano Rivera.

"Who's Felicity Smoak?"

The guy looked at him and shook his head. "I knew you didn't belong here. You really don't know much about hacking do you? Felicity Smoak was a legend at MIT – she broke almost every hacking record at the school. She developed brand new encryption algorithms that took everyone years to figure out. There were even rumors she broke into Stub Hub in '07 to score World Series tickets for her dorm. She's pretty much a genius."

The geek on the other side of him, who fell into the soft and doughy category added, "I hear she's with one of the agencies now. My roommate told me the NFL wanted to hire her to perform forensics on Brady's phone. Find out if he ordered the air to be let out of those footballs. She wouldn't do it, though."

Skinny Geek nodded knowingly.

That girl was a computer genius - that beautiful, sexy young woman? Intrigued, J.T. took another look at the blonde, searching for any signs of an immense IQ or computing savvy that he might have missed; an abnormally large head maybe, or really long fingers. Nope – she still appeared pretty, young, and amazingly normal. And above all that, J.T. thought, she looked kind; certainly not jaded, but not exactly naïve either. The sort of person who might share her hacking expertise with an enthusiastic novice without making him feel like a complete moron.

J.T. cleared his throat. " _She's_ a hacker?"

"Yeah," his neighbor nodded, "one of the best. We all expected to see more of her after graduation but she dropped out of sight two or three years ago – left the east coast for Starling City. Like Randy said," he nodded to the doughy geek, "we all think she took a job with the NSA or the CIA and had to keep a low profile. For a while she went to Def Con in Vegas. But then she just stopped showing up. It's funny that she'd come to New York. I mean, this is okay, but it really is one of the smaller conferences. Most of the big stuff is out west. I wonder what brought her back east?"

J.T. decided it was worth sticking around a little longer, if only for the chance to meet Felicity Smoak.

* * *

 

Felicity Smoak was only a little less surprised than J.T. Forbes to find herself at a hacking convention in NYC. It was the farthest Felicity had been away from Oliver Queen since he crammed his bleeding body in her Mini Cooper more than two years ago – not including, of course, the weeks he had run away to his deserted island practicing avoidance, something he was very good at. The distance felt odd, both liberating and a little empty at the same time. She wasn't sure if she still remembered how to have a life outside of Oliver.

As if to prove to herself that she could, Felicity had recklessly opted for a full week in New York, first at the hacker convention and then sight-seeing. She really hoped she'd be able to stick to her plan because the urge to head back to Starling was strong, despite the recent awkwardness that had taken over her relationship with Oliver. Still, this was NYC - the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps – and there was a lot to see and do. She had already bought tickets for a couple of Broadway shows and there was an exhibit at MOMA that sounded interesting. She kept telling herself that the sun really could rise and set without Oliver Queen.

It was also, she realized, the farthest she had been away from John Diggle in the last couple of years, with no exceptions. Digg - her friend, her protector, and the only man in the world who never seemed to lie to her – was the one who had encouraged her to take some time away from Starling City. He'd been worried about her for weeks, ever since she'd been offered up as bait to trap and bring down a madman named Slade Wilson. At one point, Slade had held a blade to her throat, all the while ranting about how he was going to take away everything Oliver loved. It had been frightening in the extreme, but in the end they had prevailed and Slade was captured and in prison.

With three tours of duty in Afghanistan behind him, Digg knew more than most about the toll battle could take on the human psyche. In the days following the take-down, he'd looked at the dark circles under Felicity's eyes and repeatedly asked her whether she was sleeping, whether she had nightmares and whether she needed to talk. Felicity had debated opening up to him, but in the end thought it would be too humiliating. How could she explain that she wasn't haunted by the iron grip of Slade's hands upon her arms or the madness in his eyes, but by the three little words Oliver had used to set the whole thing up? Hell, normally Oliver Queen couldn't lie worth a damn, but he'd managed to give an academy award winning performance when he'd delivered his " _I love you_ " to her in strategic proximity to Slade's hidden microphones. It had been so believable she was on the verge of saying it back, when Oliver had pushed the injection arrow into her hand and she'd realized this was all part of his plan to get the drug into Slade.

Digg had been angry enough with Oliver for letting Slade take her. Felicity didn't have the nerve to tell him the rest. So instead she'd let him fuss over her, confessed to occasional bouts of sleeplessness, and nodded her head when he suggested taking a little time off, never intending to actually follow through.

In the end it was Laurel who had changed Felicity's mind, although Laurel probably had no idea she was convincing Felicity of anything. Laurel Lance – _gorgeous Laurel_ —the woman Oliver had loved for half his life, now knew about his secret identity and was most definitely part of his inner circle. As always, Oliver worried about the dangers of anyone he cared about getting involved in his quest to save Starling City. But his relief at no longer having to keep his secret from her was also evident. The addition of a fifth on the team coupled with the new awkwardness that Felicity felt on the few occasions she locked eyes with Oliver had completely changed, at least for her, the atmosphere below Verdant. The easy camaraderie and inside jokes that she, Digg, Oliver and even Roy had shared had been replaced by long silences or lengthy explanations, mainly for Laurel's benefit.

It had all come to a head for Felicity less than twenty-four hours ago. It was a late afternoon in the foundry and she had been testing her rebuilt computing network, tracing some suspicious financial transactions in an effort to find something Oliver could bring to the board of directors to regain control of Queen Consolidated. Digg was winding down from a grueling workout and Oliver and Laurel were buried in contracts, looking for a legal way to get him reinstated as CEO. Paperwork was not Oliver's strong suit and he looked tired and frustrated, occasionally running his fingers through his cropped hair as he puzzled over a page. Laurel, on the other hand, was in her element, her eyes focused as she made notes on a legal pad. There was a neat stack of contracts highlighted in yellow and annotated in the margins placed beside her.

"Felicity…Digg," Oliver had sounded exhausted. "It's been a long day and I don't expect much will be going on in the city tonight. Why don't you guys head home? We can start fresh again tomorrow."

And Digg had agreed, "Sounds good to me. Let me just get cleaned up, and I'll walk Felicity to her car." He smiled at her from across the room, but the smile was tinged with concern and Felicity wondered whether he was planning another one of his loving but perceptive talks. She wasn't sure she could take it; the urge to break down and sob on Digg's shoulder had been steadily increasing.

So, as she often did, she took refuge in her computers. "Actually, guys, I've traced a funny exchange of money between one of Queen Consolidated's directors and Stelmoor that I'd like to look into a little further. My search only needs to run another half hour or so. Digg, you don't have to wait on me – you probably need something to eat after burning so many calories. Oliver, there could be something useful here for you." She gave him a tentative smile.

Oliver didn't smile back. Instead he gave her the long, thoughtful look that seemed to be their norm these days, before turning to Laurel, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Much to Felicity's annoyance, the attorney gently, almost imperceptibly, shook her head. And in that instant, Felicity knew the conversation was not going to go her way. "Felicity…," Oliver began, speaking softly but with an edge, "I appreciate the help." She could hear the _but_ coming - he was planning to dismiss her offer. She knew right then the wisest thing would be to shut down her computers and leave with Digg.

Still, it just wasn't in her to give up. She had to try.

"Oliver," she interrupted, "this money transfer to the QC director _has_ to mean something. A visit from the Arrow will force the man to cough up information a lot quicker than pouring over hundreds of pages of contracts." She gestured toward the paperwork piled on the table. Laurel frowned but Felicity chose to ignore it. "If the payment was made before the board kicked you out we might be able to prove that …"

" _Felicity_!" Oliver interjected, this time in the exasperated tone she knew all too well. "Like I said, I appreciate the help, but at this point I think I need a lawyer more than I need a hacker. I'd like to get my position back without alienating the entire board and Laurel's the person who can help the most. Please…just go home and get some rest. We have a long night of," he held up a contract, "work ahead of us. I'll be able to focus better without distractions."

 _Distractions?_ Had she just been downgraded from partner to distraction? Were things so uncomfortable now that she was a liability and not an asset? Felicity had frowned and looked across the room at Digg, trying to get his read on the situation. Digg's face was annoyingly neutral. There were days when Felicity thought he would make an excellent therapist.

It was Laurel who broke the stalemate. "Oliver," Laurel had chided him gently, "Felicity's just trying to help. You could be a little nicer about it." And she had smiled at Felicity, the smile of a woman who was confident she knew her man better than anyone. "Don't mind him, Felicity. He gets cranky when confronted with paperwork. He'll be better company tomorrow."

There was pause while Felicity looked at the floor and decided to count down from ten instead of her usual three.  She needed a little extra composure.

It didn't help. That Laurel – _Laurel_ – who had been entirely in the dark about Oliver's vigilante activities for the last two years, who had more than once tried to _trap_ the Arrow – that Laurel felt she could explain Oliver's behavior to Felicity was the last straw. To Felicity, it spoke volumes about the lawyer's confidence in her long-standing relationship with him; she still believed she knew him better than anyone and that he would listen to her before anyone. A couple of months ago, Felicity would have laughed at the notion. Now she wasn't so sure.

If she were honest with herself, when Oliver had said "I love you" she had always believed that - deep down - he had meant it. Even if he never admitted it, even if she rarely admitted it to herself, she had always thought that there was a faint possibility that Oliver would wake up someday and realize that the two of them made sense. But in that moment in the foundry, with Oliver glaring and Laurel smiling, it dawned on Felicity that she might be destined to remain nothing more than Oliver's faithful technical support for years. The situation she had experienced with Oliver and Sara might repeat itself over and over with a variety of women until he at last decided to make one his permanent partner. It was like having a bucket of ice water dumped over her head.

Across the room, Diggle was watching her closely, his eyes sympathetic. Damn the man – he always seemed to see inside her. Why couldn't Oliver be that perceptive?

"Felicity…" Oliver had started again, his voice softer this time.

And she knew something had to change. She couldn't do anything about Oliver, but she could do something about herself – starting now.

"No," Felicity had shaken her head, "you're right, Oliver. I think I will call it a night. If the money trail isn't helpful then there's not much I can do here. Digg, you ready to go?" And, feeling grateful for his presence, she'd walked over and tucked her hand under Digg's arm. Oliver's face had registered a curious mixture of surprise and relief; he'd clearly been gearing up for an argument.

When Felicity had gotten home she'd gone immediately on-line, booked herself into the hacker conference, and bought a ticket on a red-eye to NYC. The conference started the next morning and technically was closed, but what good were hacking skills if you couldn't use them to manoeuver around a few obstacles now and then? She'd emailed her itinerary to Digg, telling him where she was going and when she'd be back.

Then she quickly threw some clothes in a carry-on bag and headed to the airport.


	2. Chapter 2

John Diggle figured it would take Oliver Queen about a day to realize that he needed Felicity Smoak to help him get his company back. In reality, it only required about 12 hours. Unfortunately for Diggle, Oliver's epiphany came early in the morning, before Digg had even gotten out of bed. He was still lying on his back drowsily pondering the ceiling, when he heard his phone vibrate on the bedside table.

"'Lo?" Digg muttered groggily, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position and propping his shoulders against the headboard.

Unlike Digg, Oliver had clearly been awake for some time. His voice was alert and businesslike, and he wasted no time getting to his point. "Have you talked to Felicity today? Is she with you?"

Digg sighed regretfully, feeling his muscles began to transition from sleepy relaxation to Queen-induced tension, his hopes for a leisurely morning disappearing. Glancing at the empty pillow beside him, he took a moment to give thanks that Lyla was away on assignment. She had never been a morning person and was doubly cranky in her second trimester of pregnancy. Waking up this early to an Oliver emergency would not have been high on her priority list.

He cleared the morning fogginess out of his throat. "Good morning to you, too, Oliver. What a surprise to hear your voice this early in the day. To what do I owe the honor?" He swung his legs to side of the bed and slowly made his way to standing. Given Oliver's tone, Digg was fairly certain that going back to sleep was not going to be an option.

There was a loud, impatient snort on the other end of the line. "Don't screw around with me, Digg. Have you talked to Felicity? She's not answering her phone and her apartment is dark."

Digg located his tee shirt on the floor and quickly pulled it over his head. "Of course her apartment is dark. The sun's not up yet. Pretty much everything is dark and many folks are still in bed. _I_ was still in bed up until a few seconds ago. Maybe she's asleep, Oliver." He looked around for a pair of sweatpants he was certain he had been wearing the night before, but gave up when he decided they must have disappeared down the same black hole known to claim errant socks. Lyla didn't like it when he "paraded around the apartment in his underwear" (her words), but she wasn't here right now so the hell with it. He needed coffee, ASAP.

In shirt and boxers, he padded barefoot to his kitchen, clutching the phone to his ear. He hoped desperately that they had coffee on hand. He hadn't had much time recently to attend to the more mundane aspects of life, like grocery shopping. Fighting Mirakuru-amped soldiers could really wreak havoc on your domestic routine.

"Digg…," Oliver's demanding voice rang in his ear, causing him to shake his head in frustration. For a guy who was Mr. Cool in a crisis, Oliver often seemed to lose perspective when their IT expert was involved. Digg and Lyla had chuckled over it for a while, but it was getting a little tiresome. Frankly, Digg thought, it was time Oliver either faced up to his feelings or let her go; and after his insensitive dismissal of Felicity's offer to help yesterday, Digg was leaning toward the "let her go" side of the equation. He opened a cupboard door and began searching behind cereal boxes, hoping to locate Lyla's emergency coffee stash.

"Digg! What the fuck are you doing? Talk to me. I'm asking you about Felicity!" Clearly, this was one of those times when Oliver's perspective had gone missing.

Despite the early hour and his growing sense of irritation, Digg couldn't help but feel a small spark of mischief as he heard Oliver's exasperated voice. Oliver was typically so in control, so certain, that Digg rarely had the opportunity to yank his chain. It made him sorely tempted to take advantage of the present situation.

Keeping his voice bland, he replied, "I'm sorry, Oliver, I missed what you just said. Did you have a question?"

"Dammit, Digg! I asked five times if you'd talked to Felicity this morning. She's not answering her phone." His tone was sharp enough to cut a steak.

Digg answered pleasantly, "No, Oliver, I haven't talked to her today. The last time I saw her was when we were walking out yesterday afternoon. Everything was fine, although she might have been a little upset with you." _At last_ \- Digg located coffee and filters behind the Cheerios, pleased to see both present and accounted for.

"She said last night that she found a trail showing a QC director receiving a large payment from Stelmoor. We didn't give her a chance to explain further. You know what she's like - she probably kept investigating it on her own. Now she's not picking up." Oliver paused, then queried tersely, "Aren't you even a little bit worried?"

Digg didn't bother to stifle his yawn. "First of all – ' _we_ ' – Oliver? I assume _we_ means you and Laurel, not you and me. _You_ didn't give her the chance to explain. I would have been happy to listen. And no, Oliver, I'm not worried. She said something about a computer conference that starts today – a hacking convention, I think she called it. My guess is she's there and just turned her phone off."

Felicity had actually shared a great deal more about her convention plans with Diggle, but given Oliver's behavior yesterday Digg did not feel inclined to supply the details. He recalled the hurt look on Felicity's face when Oliver had essentially called her a "distraction" and decided that his friend needed to sweat this one out a little more.

As Oliver digested the intel about the convention, Digg filled the coffee filter with a dark Columbian blend, poured water into the machine, and hit the ON button. There was a hiss and puff of steam as the water began to work its way through the grounds.

When Oliver spoke again, his tone was a little more moderate. "A conference, Digg? It's not even 6:30 in the morning. Any conference wouldn't start for at least another couple of hours." He added reasonably, "And since when does Felicity ever turn her phone off?"

"You know how she gets about computer talk, Oliver. She wouldn't want to miss a word. And as for the time, well, given the time zone difference, they've probably started morning sessions by now."

There was another pause. "Time zone difference?" Oliver asked. His voice didn't sound so reasonable any longer. "Just where the hell is this conference?"

The smell of coffee was beginning to waft through Digg's kitchen, the aroma alone enough to perk him up. He smiled. "I'm pretty sure she said it was in New York City."

There was no sound at all on the other end of the phone. Digg silently counted to a full 30 seconds before Oliver spoke again. "New York City." His voice was flat.

"Yep. New York City. Pretty nice in the fall. It's a little early, but I think the leaves may be changing color in Central Park."

"New York City," Oliver repeated. "With everything that's going on, with me trying to get my company back, Felicity decided it was a good time to leave Starling and head across country to New York." His voice oozed sarcasm.

"As I recall, Oliver, you told her last night that you needed a lawyer to help you get your company back, not an IT specialist. You seemed pretty definite about it. You can't blame her if she took that as an opportunity for some time off. God knows, the girl's given you just about every waking minute of her life for the last couple of years." And because he couldn't resist, Digg added, "It's not as if she's run off to Lian Yu."

The coffee was almost finished brewing. Digg reached for a mug.

There was a sharp click on the other end of the phone which Diggle took to be Oliver's teeth clashing together as he clenched his jaw. "Fine, Digg. I get that she's entitled to some time on her own. But she should at least let us know that she's okay. She has a bad habit of finding trouble."

Digg poured coffee into the mug, then added milk and a healthy spoonful of sugar. Much as he was enjoying hearing Oliver squirm, it was probably time to let the guy out of his misery. He was an idiot when it came to Felicity, but Digg didn't really want to be responsible for causing a stroke in someone so young. It would be such an ignominious way for the Arrow to go.

"She's fine, Oliver. She sent me her itinerary before she left and I have a text telling me she checked into her hotel. She arrived safely and she can handle a few days by herself in New York City. You may not think of her that way, but she is a grown woman."

And in typical fashion, Oliver ignored the intent and zeroed in on the least significant detail – the detail that annoyed him the most. "She told you _last night_ she was going to New York? You knew all this time and you've been letting me worry?"

"Pretty much, Oliver."

"And you encouraged her to go, I imagine." It wasn't a question this time.

  
"I did. She's been through hell and she deserves a little fun. I'm guessing she's knee-deep in hacking techniques with her buddies from Cambridge as we speak." Diggle took a first sip of coffee and felt the delicious, bitter-sweet warmth slide down his throat. He raised his mug in a silent toast to Felicity – the only person in the world who could discompose Oliver this badly.

"Cambridge?"

"Yeah, you remember she went to MIT, right?"

"MIT is in Boston."

"BU is in Boston. MIT and Harvard are in Cambridge, Mass, Oliver."

"Which hotel?"

"Huh?"

"Which hotel in New York is she in, Digg?"

"The Hilton – or maybe it was the Hyatt. One of those names starting with an H."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"No, I'm not, Oliver. Let her enjoy her computers, catch up with her friends and forget about Starling for a few days. She's earned it."

* * *

 

Meeting Felicity Smoak might not be as difficult as meeting the Pope or the President, but it had to be a close third. J.T. followed her to every conference break-out session, trailed her to the coffee and snack tables, and even waited outside the ladies' room, but each time he was about to make contact another attendee would swoop in and capture her attention. It may have been his imagination, but it seemed like she was trying to avoid too many one-on-one discussions, preferring to surround herself with groups of people and doing her best to fade into the background when the opportunity presented itself. For such a young woman, there was a wariness about her that belied her years. In the decade J.T. had been hiding his best friend, Vincent, he'd developed a watchfulness that often bordered on paranoia; he was quick to recognize that same hyper-vigilance in someone else now. Seeing such guardedness in the lovely Ms. Smoak made J.T. wonder whether the rumors about her working for one of the country's security agencies were true.

If they were, it probably was a good reason to stay away. If they weren't, on the other hand, it only convinced him further that she was the right person to approach for help. J.T. was willing to bet she could appreciate keeping secrets. The question was whether she would understand grey areas, too.

The conference ended its first day with a cocktail and finger foods mixer where, as usual, she was surrounded by a group of men vying for her attention by telling ever more outrageous hacking stories. J.T found the situation mildly amusing; only at a hacking convention would a beautiful blonde be pursued solely for her mind. He wondered if she found pleasure in that or frustration; neither was apparent on her face. She sipped her wine, smiled politely and even complimented a few, but J.T. got the sense that she was looking for an opportunity to bolt when no one was looking. Acting on a hunch, he positioned himself near the exit so that he could catch her on her way out.

Sure enough, after about ten minutes she disengaged herself with a few polite nods and walked quietly toward the door. She could move surprisingly quickly on those high heels. Before he could second guess himself, J.T. grabbed his opportunity.

"Ms. Smoak?"

She looked up at him, startled and, if he was reading her correctly, also slightly annoyed. Her blue eyes traveled from his toes up to the top of his head before settling on his face. To her, he must appear as yet another geek seeking her attention, about to deliver one more long-winded tale of hacking prowess.

"Do I know you?"

He shook his head. "No, we've never met. I was hoping you could help me."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Help you?" Apparently none of the geeks had used that as an opening line. "Help you with what?"

"A computer problem." The second he said it he realized how ridiculous it sounded. He was at a convention where people were discussing anonymous open proxies and packet sniffing. He was supposed to know something about computers.

She gave him an incredulous look, but didn't call him on his stupidity. "Look, Mister..."

"Forbes."

"Mr. Forbes, normally I love to dive into a good IT problem, but I just flew in this morning from the west and I'm kind of beat. There's a couple of hundred guys back there," she nodded toward the conference attendees, "who I'm sure can solve your problem. You should ask one of them. That is," she added dryly, "if you can tear them away from the free shrimp."

J.T. grimaced. "Those guys? Seriously? I already spent time talking with some of them and not too many seemed willing to help. Or," he couldn't help adding, "in some cases, to bathe."

A smile appeared for a nanosecond on her face before she resumed a look of fatigued patience.

It was enough encouragement for J.T. "Look, Ms. Smoak, I realize you don't know me from Adam, but people were talking about your skills and there's some information I need to find...discretely. I promise it's for a good cause." He had been about to add that it was nothing illegal, but decided it was best to stick to the truth. In a flash of inspiration, he pulled out his college ID. There had to be some credibility associated with being a professor. "I really am a good guy. My name is J.T. Forbes and I teach biochemistry at the local university. I'm good with molecules, not so great with computers - although I'm trying to learn."

Felicity Smoak frowned. "The local university? Can't you get one of the students to help?"

J.T. shook his head. "No, this is well beyond internet searching and Hacking 101, and I'm not sure I'd trust their discretion. Plus," he added generously, "I wouldn't want to get any of the students into trouble."

She was all over that in a second. "Trouble? Just what kind of information are you looking for? I don't know what people have been telling you, but I don't do anything illegal." She amended quickly, "Well, not anything really illegal. Sometimes the information's just out there. I can't help it if it's not well protected." She paused, then added almost defiantly, "Anyway, I don't hack for monetary gain and I'm not going to help you get back at an ex-girlfriend, if that's what you're about to ask me."

J.T almost laughed. He couldn't help but notice that she had a pleasant voice; low pitched and a little on the quick side, as if her mouth were racing to keep up with her brain. He had a hard time believing she was with a security or law enforcement agency; she'd pretty much just told him she was willing to bend the rules on occasion. He wondered whether he should just put all his cards on the table – well, as many as he could without actually naming names. It was not something he was used to doing, but his instinct was telling him it might be the right approach here.

He lowered his voice. "I promise you I'm not trying to steal anything or hurt anyone." He hesitated, then plunged ahead before he could think better of it. "I have a friend who, for various reasons, needs to keep a low profile. He's had kind of an unusual life and it's left him with some unusual…skills. He's only trying to help people, but not everyone sees it that way because his methods are…unorthodox. He wants to keep helping people and I'd like to watch his back."

Something he'd said must have rung a bell. She muttered a few words under her breath which he swore sounded like _Oh God, not another one_ , before shaking her head in resignation. Then her frown was replaced by a reluctant smile, revealing white teeth and a couple of dimples. She nodded and said, "Okay, fair enough. Lucky for you, I can never seem to resist a guy who wants to be a hero. I'm staying at the Hilton a few blocks down the street and I'm going back there now because I really am tired. If you're coming to the conference tomorrow, maybe we can hook up then and talk more about what you want to do. " She grimaced. "Well, not _hook up_ , hook up. Just…get together and talk. You know what I mean."

J.T. laughed, relieved. "Yes, that would be great. I really appreciate it." He was struck by another thought. "Do you need me to walk you to your hotel?"

She considered it briefly. "Thanks, but it's early and it really is only about five or six blocks from here." She stuck out her hand. "I appreciate the offer, though. It was nice meeting you, J.T., and I'll see you tomorrow. I promise I'll be one of the geeks who bothered to bathe."

He chuckled and shook her hand. "Thank you."

After giving him another quick smile she headed out toward the hotel lobby. J.T. was about to return to the reception to see if there was any free beer left, if not shrimp, when he noticed something that struck him as odd.

Two of the conference attendees were making their way quickly toward the lobby, right on the heels of Felicity Smoak. One of them certainly looked like he belonged – he was thin and wearing a tee shirt that said: _Any fool can use a computer. Many do_. The other attendee, however, looked totally out of place. He appeared athletic – _very_ athletic – with broad shoulders and biceps that strained the sleeves of his Henley. He moved with an easy grace, stealth almost, that reminded J.T. of a wide receiver at the line of scrimmage or a basketball player cutting to the hoop. He reminded J.T., in fact, of his best friend, Vincent.

J.T. wanted to shrug it off. Just about every guy at the conference had tried to meet Felicity Smoak and these were probably just two more. He should head home and see if his girlfriend, Tess, wanted to have a bite to eat when she got off work. As Felicity had said, it was early, and the sidewalks were filled with people. What could happen? Still…something about those two just didn't seem right - and J.T. was a big believer in trusting his instincts. He decided to follow.

It was a beautiful evening. Fall had had been slow to arrive in New York and it was warm enough to walk without a jacket. Felicity was moving briskly down the sidewalk, weaving in and out of the groups of people who had adopted a leisurely pace better suited to chatting and window shopping. J.T. could see the bright sign of the Hilton that was obviously her destination. As she'd said, it was only five blocks away. The two guys, however, were closing in on her. J.T. picked up his pace.

The men caught up with her when she was still three blocks from her hotel. For a second J.T. thought they really did just want to talk until he saw the skinny one in the tee shirt pull a syringe out of the back pocket of his jeans. He quickly jabbed it into Felicity's upper arm.

She didn't immediately crumple. In fact, J.T. thought maybe he should reconsider his notion that she didn't work for a security agency, because she speedily turned to face her attacker and kneed him hard in the groin. He dropped like a sack of potatoes while she pulled the syringe out of her arm. Then she swiftly moved away from the two men, trying to put distance as well as people between herself and them.

J.T. was suitably impressed. She wasn't at the skill level of his female cop friends – Catherine, no doubt, would have broken the guy's nose – but she'd gotten herself away. Still, she was clearly going to need help. Some of whatever was in that syringe must have gotten into her system and, depending on what it was, she was either going to be sick or unconscious. He hurried to catch up with her.

Unfortunately, the athletic looking man from the conference did the same. After saying a couple of words to his buddy - now lying in a fetal position on the sidewalk – he continued to follow. J.T. intercepted him when they were both about ten yards away from Felicity.

"Hey!" he said, grabbing the man's arm, "I don't know what the hell you're up to, but you need to leave her alone."

The man turned to stare at him. To J.T.'s horror there was a yellow-ish tint to his eyes and his hands took on a claw-like appearance as he clenched and unclenched his fists. In the blink of a eye, he picked J.T. up as if he weighed no more than a pillow and threw him down the sidewalk. J.T. landed on his backside amid the crowd of pedestrians.

And no one blinked. This was NYC, after all.

Holy crap, J.T. thought, the man is _Beasting out_. He was still in the early stages, but when he achieved full transformation in a few minutes things were going to get incredibly ugly. There was only one thing J.T. could think to do. He went for his phone.

Vincent answered on the second ring, "Hey, J.T., what's up?"

"I got a little bit of a Beast problem," J.T. replied, not bothering to keep the hysteria out of his voice. "I could really use your help…NOW."

His tone must have been enough, because Vincent didn't ask for an explanation. "Where?"

"Near the Hilton on 6th, out on the sidewalk."

"On my way."

J.T. shoved his phone in his pocket and searched for Felicity. She had reached a corner where 6th Avenue intersected an alley containing dumpsters and a couple of parked cars. He figured the drug must be kicking in because she stumbled as she stepped off the sidewalk, although she managed to stay upright and keep walking. Unfortunately, instead of moving back into the crowd, her unsteady legs took her into the empty alley. He saw her shake her head a few times as if trying to clear it. Her eyes were glued on the Beast – well, still semi-Beast at this point - closing in on her. The guy was growling as he advanced and his claws were in full view, but he seemed to have some semblance of control.

And no one near the alley appeared to notice. New Yorkers.

To her credit, Felicity was not giving up without a fight. She stood behind a parked truck, placing it between herself and the Beast. Like a scene in a sick cartoon, she and the Beast kept circling around the vehicle, with her feinting one way and then another in an effort to clear enough space to run back to the street. J.T. knew she didn't stand a chance under the current circumstances. Her wobbly legs were no match for the Beast's speed and she was probably only minutes away from passing out.

J.T. decided to try distracting him. If he could pull the Beast a few feet away from the truck, she might be able to make it to the street. "Hey, Asshole!" he yelled, entering the alley.

The Beast turned to look at him and in that instant, Felicity made a break for it. She sprinted around the truck and headed back toward 6th Avenue. The Beast pivoted abruptly away from J.T. and reached for her.

J.T. knew exactly when the Beast made contact because he could see her eyes widen in pain as she felt his claws on her back. She didn't stop running though, and the Beast didn't have enough of a hold to stop her. Before he could gather himself for a second attempt a man stepped in front of the Beast and answered his growl with one of his own.

Vincent had arrived.

To J.T.'s relief, there was no Beast battle. After close to a minute of angry stares and snarls, the Beast from the hacking convention ran down the alley, sprung up onto a fire escape and disappeared over the roof of a building. Vincent took a minute to pull himself together, then turned to look at J.T with the mild brown eyes of his best friend.

And Felicity Smoak – she reached him just in time to collapse at his feet.


	3. Chapter 3

Vincent Keller slowly lowered the unconscious young woman to J.T.’s bed, gently turning her so that she was lying facing down. They had briefly considered bringing her to a hospital, but decided it was going to be tough to explain how she’d gotten claw marks on her back while walking down 6th Avenue. Then there was the matter of the still unknown drug that would show up in her blood tests. And finally there was Vincent himself. He wasn’t sure how much the girl had actually seen, but he didn’t want to risk her regaining consciousness and telling stories of men with yellow eyes and superhuman strength to the police.

So instead they brought her to J.T.’s place. The wounds were messy but not life-threatening, and her pulse and respiration were steady. After all, Vincent _was_ a doctor. Of course, after medical school he’d also been a soldier and he still was, at times, a Beast as a result of Muirfield’s experiments. But he was confident he hadn’t lost any of his skills.

He unzipped what remained of the top of her dress, pulling apart the fabric and studying the marks on her back. He heard J.T. inhale sharply. Most of the wounds were superficial but a couple of the gashes went deep, almost into the muscle. She was going to need stitches – a lot of them. It seemed a shame. She was young and, other than the claw marks, had fair and flawless skin. Vincent normally disliked suturing but resolved that, in this case, he would take whatever time was needed to minimize the scarring. She shouldn’t have to remember this night every time she put on a bathing suit or stepped into the shower.

“J.T.,” he said, glancing up at his friend, “Do you still have any of my medical gear here?”

J.T. nodded, “I’ll get your bag.”

* * *

 

Almost two hours later, Vincent straightened up to examine his handiwork. Conditions had hardly been optimal; his neck ached from awkwardly bending over the bed to put in row after row of tiny stitches using the finest sutures he had, but the results looked good. Other than a few fine, white lines, she shouldn’t have any mementos of this evening. Whatever they’d injected her with must be pretty potent, because she hadn’t moved once during the entire time he’d worked on her.

While Vincent had been suturing, J.T. had provided a little more information about the woman. Her name was Felicity Smoak and she was in town for some kind of computing convention. J.T. had met her at the convention and had noticed two men following her when she left to return to her hotel. To his surprise, one of those men had turned out to be a Beast; that was when he had called Vincent.

As he pulled off his surgical gloves, Vincent looked at the man who had been his best friend since grammar school. J.T. had done a good job keeping his head tonight and he’d been surprisingly effective as an assistant. He’d gently wiped away blood, snipped threads, and held the light in the right positions without being asked. He’d known when to talk and when to be silent so that Vincent could concentrate. It was on the tip of Vincent’s tongue to tell J.T. that he’d make a great nurse when the phone in his friend’s pocket buzzed loudly. J.T. pulled it out and looked at it, then shoved it back in his pocket with a sigh.

“You avoiding someone? Not Tess, I hope,” Vincent grinned, referring to J.T.’s girlfriend. “You’ve already got some explaining to do,” he teased, nodding toward the bed at the attractive and unconscious blonde.

J.T. shook his head. “It’s Felicity’s phone, not mine. You probably didn’t notice because you were focused on your sutures, but it’s been ringing every 20 or 30 minutes. Someone named Oliver keeps calling her. No last name.”

“Oliver. Boyfriend maybe?”

J.T. shrugged, “Could be. Or a brother, cousin, boss or roommate. I tried getting more information but she’s got her phone locked down with all kinds of fancy security. She’s some kind of tech genius – like, seriously, a genius. A lot of people at the conference had heard of her and it seemed like most of them wanted to talk to her.”

“People meaning guys?” Vincent glanced down at girl, with her blonde hair spread across the pillow and her toned legs stretched out on the bed. “I’m not sure her being a genius was the reason men wanted to meet her.”

J.T. snorted, “Believe me, the guys I saw at this conference were much more interested in her hacking skills than her…” he paused, “other attributes. And someone was interested enough to follow her from the conference, drug her, and attempt to kidnap her, with help from a Beast.”

“Do you think she knew who it was?”

J.T. shook his head. “No, she seemed pretty surprised.”

Vincent rubbed the back of his stiff neck and suggested thoughtfully, “Maybe it’s time to bring in the pro’s. Catherine and Tess should be getting off duty right about now. We could ask them to stop by.”

J.T. did not look terribly enthusiastic.

“You think we shouldn’t tell them?” Vincent asked.

J.T. frowned, “I know you were joking a few minutes ago, but with Tess I really _will_ have some explaining to do. I told her I’d be tied up for the next couple of days with this convention. I told her how it was all about computers and hacking – dry, techie stuff. Now I come home with a woman – a young and very pretty woman?”

“You were being a good Samaritan, helping her out. Tess will understand.”

J.T. sighed, “Maybe. But Tess and I are a new couple, not like you and Cat. You guys have been together a couple of years and you’re solid now. Hell, you’ve got that whole _epic and destined to be together_ thing going for you. Tess is still pretty gun-shy about being in a relationship and some days it feels like she’s just looking for an excuse to call things off. This,” he gestured toward Felicity, “could be that excuse.”

Vincent shrugged his shoulders. “Well, epic or not, Catherine has cop instincts and she’ll know the minute she talks to me that something is up. She’ll have my ass if she finds out I investigated a Beast-related problem without her. So that means I’m going to tell her -- which means she’s going to tell her partner, Tess. So you’d better start thinking about what you’re going to say to your girlfriend.”

Despite his worry over Tess’s reaction, J.T. grinned suddenly, “Oh, man, you are so whipped. You’ve got super-strength courtesy of Muirfield, but you’re frightened by a hundred pound woman.”

Before Vincent could come up with a decent retort, Felicity’s phone buzzed again. J.T. held it out to him; the name “Oliver” was clearly displayed along with the picture of a man who looked to be somewhere around thirty. Vincent was no genetics expert, but he didn’t think the man appeared related to Felicity. That took “brother” off the table.

“Maybe you should answer it,” Vincent suggested. “Could be a way to get more information.”

“And say what? _‘Hi, I’m answering Felicity’s phone because she was attacked by a Beast and is unconscious in my bedroom’?_ I’m not sure that will go over too well.”

Vincent smiled, “Fair enough. I guess we just wait til the sedative wears off and we have a chance to ask her ourselves.” He slowly stretched the kinks out of his back. “I’m going to call Catherine so start thinking about what you want to say to Tess.” He reached down to Felicity to take her pulse again. Still slow and steady. “I’m assuming you have a clean tee shirt for her?” he asked.

“Yeah – I did laundry last night. I’ll get one,” J.T. replied. He was about to head for the basket of clean clothes he’d pulled from the dryer when the young woman’s cell buzzed once more in his pocket. He chuckled and shook his head. “God, I think this guy is more whipped than you are.”

Vincent laughed, “You’re not so different, buddy. Tess already has you tied in knots.” He nodded toward the phone. “I’m really starting to think we should talk to this guy Oliver and give him some kind of explanation. Clearly he’s worried, or has something he needs to speak to her about.”

J.T. looked at Felicity’s phone and raised his eyebrows in surprise, “It’s not Oliver this time. It’s someone named Digg.” He frowned, “Pretty tough looking guy.”

Vincent stiffened, “Did you say ‘Digg’?” It couldn’t be; it would be too much of a coincidence. There were probably hundreds of guys with the nickname Digg.

“Yeah, spelled with two G’s.” J.T. held out the phone to Vincent.

Vincent stared at the picture as the cell phone continued to vibrate. Digg. Sonofabitch. It _was_ Digg. The face immediately brought back memories of another life, over a decade ago in a foreign country. A life when he’d left NYC, raw from the loss of his brothers during 9-11, attracted by the discipline and distance of a military tour in Afghanistan. Some of Vincent’s army memories were hazy – Muirfield’s experiments had clouded his mind – but he’d met John Diggle before Muirfield came on the scene and there was nothing hazy about his recollections of Digg. He’d stood out among his fellow soldiers for his intelligence, level-headedness, and maturity. Vincent had respected him the moment they’d met.

Without thinking further, he snatched the phone from J.T.’s hand and answered it. “Hello?” J.T. was staring at him as if he’d just lost his mind.

There was a long pause at the other end of the line, “Who is this?”

Vincent grinned. It had been a lot of years but the voice still sounded the same;  a no-nonsense, kick-your-ass voice that made him want to straighten up and salute. He replied evenly, “I’ll answer your question if you answer mine first. Is this John Diggle? Served with the 105th Airborne out of Kandahar?”

Another pause, then, “Who the hell is this? And what are you doing with this phone? If I don’t hear from Felicity in the next ten seconds…”

Vincent interrupted before John Diggle could issue his threat. “Calm down, Digg,” he said cheerfully, “is that any way to talk to an old army buddy?”

“Army buddy? What the fu..."

“It’s Vincent, Digg, Vincent Keller.”

There was a long silence at the other end of the line. Vincent imagined that Digg’s expression probably mirrored that of J.T., who was currently staring at him with his jaw dropped and his brow furrowed.

“Who did you say you were?”

“Vincent Keller. We served together in ’03. I know you’re not a kid anymore, Digg, but you’re still a little too young for senility.”

“Yeah, I remember serving with a Vincent Keller,” Digg’s voice was almost wistful. “I also remember he died years ago -- killed in the line of duty.” His voice hardened. “Pretty much anybody can look up my service record. So if you’re trying to convince me we know each other, you’re going to have to come up with something better.”

Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and dug through his memories. It had been a while since he’d allowed himself to think about the war, and what recollections he had were typically not good. However, with Diggle, there had been a few bright spots; he searched for them now. “Let me think...There was the time I taught you how to do an emergency tracheotomy south of Khost City. Or how about the weekend we had off in Kabul? There was this brunette at the bar who was all over your…”

“Damn,” Diggle cut him off, his voice sounding stunned. “Keller it is you. You get put on some special assignment back then? Is that why everyone was told you were dead?”

Vincent sighed, “Digg, it’s a long story. Let’s just say rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” He sat down on the side of the bed, suddenly tired. J.T. was still staring at him with a perplexed expression, no doubt confused by hearing only half of the conversation. “If you still don’t believe me, you can Google the New York City news from about six months ago. My ‘war hero is still alive’ story had its fifteen minutes in the local press.”

To Vincent’s surprise, John Diggle laughed. “Yeah, well, believe it or not, you’re not the first guy I know that’s come back from the dead. Hell, it seems to be an epidemic these days.” His voice became more serious. “Anyway, what does any of this have to do with Felicity? Why is she with you? Can I talk to her?”

Vincent glanced at the woman stretched out next to him. Felicity was still unconscious, breathing steadily. The stitches looked tidy and she was no longer bleeding. “At the moment, no, she can’t talk – she’s out cold.” At Digg’s sharp intake of breath he hastily added, “She’s fine, Digg, just got injected with some kind of sedative and she’s sleeping it off.” Curious, he added, “Just how do you know her? And can you think of a reason someone might want to kidnap her?”

“Kidnap? What the hell happened?”

“She was leaving a computer conference with a friend of mine when two guys came after her. They managed to shoot her up with something before he could stop them. My friend didn’t think they wanted to hurt her...just take her for some reason.” Vincent opted to leave out the part about one of the kidnappers being a Beast. There were some things that couldn’t be explained over the phone.

“But you have her and she’s okay?”

“She’s fine, Digg. A little banged up but nothing serious.” Vincent paused, “Anyway, you didn’t tell me how you know her. She’s certainly attractive, but I recall hearing you got married in the service.”

Diggle laughed again, “Married, divorced, now in a relationship and expecting a kid. Felicity’s not a girlfriend -- we work together, Vincent. I’m in private security.”

“Really? And she’s an employee?”

“Not of mine. We both work for the same boss – well, we used to, anyway. And she’s a friend.”

“Oh.” Vincent glanced at J.T., who continued to follow the conversation attentively. “What about this guy, Oliver, who keeps trying to call her? Boyfriend? Husband? He’s been very persistent.”

Diggle sighed, “None of the above. It’s…complicated.” After a moment he added, “I can get in touch with Oliver and let him know what’s going on.” He didn’t sound happy about the prospect.

“I think that would be a good idea.”

“In the meantime,” Diggle continued, “do you think she’ll be okay until I can get there? Any chance those guys could come back for her?”

Vincent shook his head, then remembered Diggle couldn’t see the gesture over the phone. “We got her, Digg,” he said reassuringly. “I’ve got a couple of cop friends who are on their way here now. We’ll make sure nothing happens.” He added with a smile, “She must be a pretty good friend to have you willing to fly in from – just where are you flying in from?”

“Starling City. And, yes, she is a good friend. In some ways you might say she’s a fellow soldier.”

Vincent looked at the woman lying in J.T.’s bed and had a hard time picturing her as a soldier. Still, if she had Diggle’s respect, there must be a lot more to her than met the eye. He gave Diggle J.T.’s address and their phone numbers, then ended the call. He shook his head ruefully; this evening had been full of surprises, and it wasn’t even 8:00 yet.

He couldn’t wait to see John Diggle again.

* * *

 

As J.T. had predicted, Tess gave the blonde woman in his bed a long, hard stare before turning to raise one suspicious eyebrow at her boyfriend. They were gathered, all four of them, in J.T.’s bedroom, talking in hushed tones even though Vincent was pretty sure they could have blasted a series of heavy metal songs and Felicity still would not have awoken. It probably didn’t improve Tess’s misgivings, Vincent thought, to see Felicity wearing one of J.T.’s old tee shirts that proclaimed: _Once I told a chemistry joke – there was no reaction._ In retrospect, it might have been better if they’d dressed her in one of Vincent’s shirts still lying around from the time he and J.T. were roommates.

J.T. cautiously recounted the story of meeting Felicity at the convention, all the while keeping an eye on Tess’s face. He mentioned becoming worried when he saw the two men follow her, and calling Vincent when one of those men had revealed himself to be a Beast. Vincent had added to the tale by relaying the bit about Felicity knowing his old army buddy, John Diggle.

Catherine had listened intently and interrupted a few times to ask cop-like questions about timing, location and descriptions of the men. Tess, on the other hand, had said nothing, and it was clear to Vincent her silence was making J.T. nervous. When she at last chose to speak, it was not likely to put his pal at ease.

“Really, J.T.?” Her voice was calm, but Vincent could detect her New York snark lurking just below the surface. “You go to a computing conference with over two hundred men and this is who you decide to approach for help? You’re seriously telling me this…this… _blonde_ …is an IT genius? Crap, she looks like she belongs in a bikini on a surfboard.”

J.T. looked helplessly at Vincent, his expression clearly conveying _I told you this would happen._ Vincent was torn between the urge to laugh and the imperative to obey the bro-code and bail his buddy out. He searched his brain for something – _anything_ – that would restore Tess to a better frame of mind. Before he could open his mouth, however, Felicity’s phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time.J.T. pulled it out of his pocket.

“Oliver calling Felicity again?” Vincent asked.

“Yeah.”

“Digg must not have had a chance to talk to him yet. This guy, Oliver,” Vincent began to explain to Tess and Catherine, “has been calling at least—“

“Give me that!” Tess’s voice was sharp.

“Huh?” J.T. looked genuinely frightened.

“Give me the phone -- now,” she repeated. J.T. started to hand it to her, but apparently wasn’t fast enough because she reached over and snatched it while he was still extending his arm. She stared open-mouthed at the picture, then turned to Catherine completely flabbergasted. “Holy shit,” she said softly, then passed the phone to her partner.

Catherine’s reaction wasn’t all that different from Tess’s. She, too, gaped at the picture, then raised her eyes to Tess with a look that Vincent might have compared to the rapture if he’d known Catherine to be at all religious. The two women regarded each other intently; there was clearly some silent, female communication going on that neither he nor J.T. were privy to.

Both women turned to glare at J.T.

“You’re a moron, J,T.,” Tess said bluntly, although to Vincent’s relief, some of her anger seemed to have dissipated. “You mean to tell me you have no idea who this is?”

J.T. shook his head, looking both confused and relieved that Tess’s rancor was fading. He assumed an apologetic expression. “No, neither Vincent nor I know who he is. Should we?”

Tess laughed and rolled her eyes. She glanced at Catherine as if to say _men are such idiots_ and Catherine returned pretty much the same look. “This is Oliver Queen,” Tess explained slowly, “Oliver—fucking—Queen.”

J.T. looked at Vincent helplessly again. “Should that mean something?”

Tess shook her head disbelievingly, “I could possibly understand Vincent not knowing…he was in hiding for most of the time when he wasn’t Beasting out. But you, J.T.? This was all over the news – the _national_ news. Oliver Queen, son of billionaire Robert Queen?” When J.T. still showed no understanding, she continued, “He and his father went missing seven years ago when the family yacht sank in a storm. Everyone assumed he was dead, until he was found two years ago on a deserted island. God, I can’t believe you didn’t recognize him.”

When Vincent and J.T. remained silent, Catherine took up the narrative, “He returned home to Starling City and eventually took control of Queen Consolidated as CEO.” She frowned, “Although I remember reading something in the Wall Street Journal about the board of directors ousting him a few months ago.”

The four of them stared at the phone which had at last stopped vibrating, as if expecting Oliver Queen to suddenly materialize in J.T.’s bedroom. All of this was interesting, Vincent thought, but it still felt like there was a piece missing – something that would explain Tess’s and Catherine’s very strong reaction.

As if he could read Vincent’s mind, J.T. spoke up. “Okay,” he said to Tess, “so she has some rich CEO calling her. It’s not all that unusual. Hell, we’ve got at least one billionaire on every block in mid-town Manhattan. I’m not sure I’m appreciating what is evidently a very huge deal to you and Cat.”

Tess smiled at his naiveté. “Oliver Queen is a perennial on People’s Sexiest Men list. He’s hotter than…,” she struggled for a comparison, “Liam Hemsworth _and_ Chris Hemsworth combined. Hell, he walks into a room and women’s panties drop to the floor of their own accord.”

Vincent laughed, “Okay, you made that last one up.” He turned to Catherine for corroboration, but she only frowned and looked thoughtful. He suddenly felt a little insecure.

“And,” Tess continued, “he’s calling your friend, Felicity, here. A lot, apparently.”

They all turned to stare at the blonde in the bed.

Tess cleared her throat. “Let’s recap, shall we?” she said, suddenly sounding more like a cop. “According to _you_ ,” she tilted her head toward J.T., “Felicity Smoak is an expert hacker. _Your_ old army buddy,” she nodded at Vincent, “called her a fellow soldier. And she’s got Oliver ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ Queen on speed dial.” She grinned at Catherine, “This case suddenly got very interesting.”

J.T. said a little sourly, “Well, at least you don’t seem angry at me for meeting her anymore.”

Tess laughed, “If she’s hanging out with Oliver Queen, I don’t think I need to worry about her poaching my boyfriend.”

“Thanks, that does wonders for my confidence.”

Tess’s expression softened, “Don’t worry, J.T. You have plenty of other amazing qualities.” J.T. frowned; her voice wasn’t entirely reassuring.

“Well,” Catherine said practically, “How much longer do you think it will be before she wakes up and we can get some answers?”

The four of them stared once again at Felicity Smoak.

* * *

 

 John Diggle was normally not an indecisive man. He knew himself to be observant, a good judge of character and unafraid to act when the moment called for it. He’d been bombed, shot at, imprisoned and had even taken his young nephew to see a department store Santa two Christmases running. He was battle-tested.

So why was he finding it so hard to tell Oliver Queen that Felicity Smoak was not answering his calls because she was unconscious, albeit perfectly fine, in NYC?

It was the unconscious part, Diggle thought, which was the stickler. Oliver hadn’t been too happy about Felicity traveling to NYC – even conscious – but he’d eventually accepted it with his typical ill grace. It was this last wrinkle that was likely to put him over the edge. Digg was sorely tempted to say nothing, just get on a plane and head to New York, but the repercussions of both he _and_ Felicity going incommunicado at the same time were unthinkable. He wouldn’t be able to spar with Oliver for six months for fear of losing a body part.

If he were honest with himself, he’d also have to admit that some of his reluctance stemmed from the fact that – dammit – _the man had_ _been right._ Oliver had said that Felicity had a talent for finding trouble and Digg had assured him she could take care of herself in NYC. She was headed to a hacking convention, for God’s sake, a place filled with computer nerds who considered moving a mouse to be physical exercise. What could go wrong? And yet now, inexplicably, she was sleeping off a sedative after an aborted kidnapping attempt. _Oliver had been right._ Diggle enjoyed his role as the senior statesman on the team. Oliver might have super-human reflexes and abs off which you could bounce a quarter, but when it came to judging people and situations, Digg ruled. It bothered him to even contemplate that he’d made an error; to have to actually confess it to Oliver was downright humiliating.

Still, he had to tell Oliver something. The questions were; what precisely should he say and how should the news be delivered?

He answered the second question first.  He decided to tell Oliver in person. History showed that various parts of the foundry tended to get damaged when Oliver was upset and, after fighting Slade’s Mirakuru army, they really didn’t have equipment to spare. They also no longer had unlimited funds for repairs. As it was, Felicity had had to scrounge for parts to return her computers to working order. Digg felt that by being there when he delivered the news, he could limit the collateral damage.

More importantly, if Laurel were also there -- as she often was these days -- the conversation with Oliver was likely to be shorter. For reasons still not clear to Digg, Laurel had a funny habit of diverting the discussion away from Felicity whenever Oliver brought her up a topic. Normally Digg found this annoying and dismissive, but this evening it might actually be helpful. You worked with what you had.

As to what he should tell Oliver, Diggle figured he would play this one by ear. As a rule, he abhorred lying and he certainly had no intentions of fibbing this time. However, it might be one of those situations that benefited from telling the truth, but not exactly the _whole_ truth. He didn’t like himself for making that distinction – he normally considered it a cheap tactic used by philandering husbands – but desperate times called for desperate measures.

So he arrived at the foundry a little before dinner time. There was good news and bad news. The good news was that he found Oliver training hard, his fists flying as he pummeled the dummy, sweat running down his bare back. Typically when Oliver had expended nervous energy he was less prone to overreaction. All indications were that Oliver had been at it for at least an hour.

The bad news was that he was alone; no Laurel to serve as a buffer.

Digg girded himself up mentally, and waited until Oliver took a break to grab a sip of water. “Hey,” he said as an opening, “looking good. Seems like you’re fully recovered from fighting Slade.” It was a light and positive start to their conversation, he thought.

Oliver shrugged, wiping his face with a towel. “Yeah, almost back to a hundred percent. Right shoulder is still a little stiff but it’s time for the Arrow to get back out there. Maybe we can go out tonight – start with something simple until Felicity gets back.”

Damn -- so much for easing into the discussion.  He was going to have to tell Oliver right away that he was heading out of town. And he couldn't help but notice that Oliver had already brought up Felicity’s name, evidence that she was very much on his mind.  Digg chose his words carefully. “That sounds good and I’d like to Oliver, but unfortunately I’m going to have to go away for a couple of days starting tonight. Not a big deal,” he assured quickly, “just a small, personal thing.” So far, that was a true statement. Felicity was, after all, a friend and that made going to help a personal act.

“Lyla okay?”

“Yeah, she’s good. Still on assignment. I…,” Digg hesitated, keeping a watchful eye on Oliver’s face, “I just got a call from an old army buddy, a guy I served with in Afghanistan. He’s got an issue he could use a little help with.” Still true. Oliver looked thoughtful, but not suspicious.

“Other than Lyla, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention friends from the army before.”

“Vincent and I go back a long ways, more than ten years. We lost track of each other – mostly because I thought he was dead, killed in the war – but I found out tonight he wasn’t.” Great, now he was starting to babble like Felicity. “ _Anyway_ , he could use my help. Shouldn’t be more than two or three days.”

Oliver frowned, “And he just reached out to you, out of the blue, after all these years? How did he know how to get in touch with you?”

Good question. Digg opted to respond briefly with, “Mutual friend.” He assumed Vincent was ready to call Felicity a friend and he was still sticking to true statements. He hoped he didn’t have to explain further – things were getting a little fuzzy.

To Digg’s relief, Oliver didn’t pursue it. “No problem, Digg. I’ll hold off patrolling til you get back.” He started to stretch out his shoulder, grimacing slightly. “Anything I can help with?” he offered.

Digg shook his head, “Thanks, Oliver. Appreciate it, but this should be quick and easy. I’ll touch base as soon as I’m sure of my schedule.” He took a deep breath; now for the tricky part. He needed to give Oliver a reason for Felicity not answering his calls. He did his best to smile casually. “Sounds like Felicity had an exciting first day at her conference.”

Oliver’s head snapped up, “You talked to her?”

Digg said carefully, “I heard about her day.”

“I tried to call her a couple of times but she didn’t answer.” _More like a couple hundred_ , Digg thought, based on Vincent’s comments. With mention of Felicity, Oliver’s energy level rose immediately. He dropped to the floor and began a series of one-armed pushups.

Digg watched him complete his first set, then said, “Well, at this point Oliver, she’s probably asleep. Remember there’s a time difference, and she did take an overnight flight. She must be beat.” Still true, but now he was starting to tread into slippery territory. He didn’t like himself too much at this moment.

Oliver rose from the floor and reached for his water bottle. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said slowly. He added, almost reluctantly, “I’ll wait til tomorrow and give her a call then.” He resumed stretching.

Digg exhaled; mission accomplished. He had just bought himself twelve hours to get to NYC and get the situation under control before he and Felicity had to reveal anything more to Oliver. _Time to get out of here_. He made a show of looking at his watch. “Well, I have to get going, Oliver. Good to see you back in fighting form. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.” He tried not to run as he headed toward the foundry steps.

He’d started to ascend and was less than ten feet from the door when Oliver called out, “Where is this buddy, anyhow?”

Oh shit. This one was going to tough to answer with anything but the truth. Diggle thought briefly about pretending that he hadn’t heard Oliver, but his hesitation on the stairs had already given him away. He turned to face back down into the foundry and put on his best poker face. “New York,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

Oliver reached for a hoody and pulled it over his sweaty torso. “New York,” Oliver repeated slowly, “New York _City?_ ”

Digg pursed his lips and nodded.

“The same city Felicity is in.”

Digg nodded again. He had the sickly sense of things starting to unravel but did his best to regroup. “Yeah, Oliver. It’s one of those small world things. My friend Vincent…bumped into Felicity, and he found out they both knew me -- that’s how he ended up calling. Quite a coincidence.” He hoped his grin didn’t look as stupid as it felt.

“She okay, Digg?”

“Yeah, Oliver, she’s fine.”

“Does this have anything to do with her not answering her phone?”

“It might. She was pretty busy with Vincent.” Oh hell, that came out wrong.

“Busy? Busy how? What is this guy like?”

Digg hastened to reassure, “He’s a good, honorable guy, Oliver, and one of the best soldiers I’ve known.” That much he could say with a clear conscience.

“But you haven’t seen him in ten years. People change.”

“We talked, Oliver. He sounds exactly like the man I knew in Afghanistan. Believe me, whatever they’re doing, she’s in good hands.” Damn, that didn’t come out any better.

“What did Felicity have to say about him?”

Digg sighed, “I didn’t talk to her about him.”

“But she’s okay.”

“Yes, Oliver, I told you, she’s fine.”

“I don’t like the way you keep saying _‘fine’_.”

“What word would you like me to use, Oliver?”

“I don’t want you to use a different word. I want the truth, Diggle. What happened to Felicity?”

Diggle blew out his breath. Game over. His vision of a quiet trip to NYC quickly dissolved. He descended the steps back into the foundry. “She was leaving her hacking convention and walking back to her hotel,” he explained to Oliver. “A couple of guys tried to kidnap her.” Oliver’s eyes narrowed and Diggle hurried on, “But my army buddy, Vincent, and a friend of his were able to stop them. She’s with them now and she’s…well, she’s fi--good.”

“Did she say if she knew either of them?”

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to her yet.”

“Because…?”

Digg closed his eyes, “Because she was still unconscious, Oliver. The kidnappers shot her up with some kind of sedative when they tried to take her. She hadn’t woken up yet when I spoke with Vincent.”

“Your definition of ‘fine’ isn’t really working for me, Diggle.”

“Look, besides being an army buddy who I would trust with my life, Vincent is also a doctor. He checked her over and, other than a few scrapes and bruises, she’s fi--okay.”

“A few scrapes and bruises. Your story just keeps getting worse.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“And you were thinking you’d go to New York, find out who tried to kidnap Felicity, bring her back home, and I’d be none the wiser? Oh, and catch up with your army buddy as well?”

“You’re busy trying to get your company back. I thought I could do a recon and get some facts before you had to get involved. I was planning to tell you once I had a better idea of what was going on.”

“Someone tried to kidnap Felicity, Digg. You thought I’d consider getting my company back more important than that?” Oliver sounded indignant, almost righteous.

Diggle felt an answering spark of anger at Oliver's tone.  For the first time since he’d set foot in the foundry, he did not feel at a disadvantage. He looked Oliver in the eye. “When it comes to Felicity, Oliver, I don’t know what you think,” he said quietly. “You care about her safety, but you set her up to take down a homicidal lunatic – alone. You don’t think you love her, but you always want her with you. You didn’t like it when she showed interest in Barry, but you were fine with bringing your relationship with Sara into the foundry.” He shook his head, “So no, Oliver, I really wasn’t sure how you were going to react. I’ll admit I didn’t think you’d take the news calmly.”

Oliver stared at him for several seconds. In typical Oliver fashion, he changed the topic, “Well, you realize I’m going with you to New York.”

“I figured as much.”

“Let me just pull my stuff together. Should be ready in fifteen. We ought to be able to get to NYC before morning.”

“You’re not the CEO of Queen Consolidated any longer. You understand you’re going to have to fly commercial?”

Oliver laughed, “Of course, Digg.”

“Coach.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. For a second Digg thought the tackling dummy was going to lose an arm. Then Oliver nodded in acceptance.

“It’s for Felicity.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very big thank you to folks who left kudos, comments and links on tumblr. Crossovers are tricky things, and readers on AO3 have been wonderfully fair about giving this story a chance. I'm particularly appreciative of folks who commented that they follow one, but not both, series -- and still took the time to read.
> 
> I'm pretty new to fanfiction, and my novice approach has been to write a story that I would like to read -- hoping others will enjoy it as well. The positive feedback has been encouragement to keep going.

It must have been a hell of a party. There was a dull but persistent pounding in her head, as if someone were tapping on her forehead with a mallet…from inside her skull. Her mouth and throat were parched. It was a feeling that she hadn’t had in a long time -- not since she’d gone to work at Queen Consolidated and certainly not since she’d joined Team Arrow. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d really let loose at a party. Those stuffy do’s at the Queen Mansion definitely didn’t count; everyone was always uptight and she was afraid to have more than one sip of anything lest she embarrass herself or, by association, Oliver. Even sober, her mouth ran away from her. She couldn’t imagine being tipsy in front of the dragon lady, Moira Queen. Instead, she had become adept at holding a glass of very expensive wine but never actually taking a drink. It felt like a metaphor for her relationship with Oliver.

Felicity shifted slightly in bed, but didn’t open her eyes. The movement brought a searing pain to her back. She could understand the hangover, but she couldn’t conceive of what she might have done at the party to cause her back to hurt. But then, come to think of it, she really couldn’t remember much about a party. She did her best to ignore her headache and tried to recollect recent events. Oh yes -- she had left Starling for a hacking convention in NYC. Oliver had made it clear that he didn’t want her help getting Queen Consolidated back and that he was turning to Gorgeous Laurel for assistance. With Digg’s encouragement, she had decided to take a week away, to think and to put some distance between her and Oliver. She had met some guy named J.T. at the convention and had agreed to help him out. She was walking back to her hotel.

In none of those actions did she recall having a drink.

Then it hit her. On the way back to the hotel there had been a guy who had jabbed a needle in her arm and another who had tried to grab her. The second guy had picked up J.T. and thrown him twenty yards down the sidewalk with the strength of a Mirakuru soldier in Slade’s army. Had Mirakuru found its way to New York? Or was she having one of the PTSD flashbacks that Digg had said might occur? It would be just her luck to travel thousands of miles to get away from Arrow business only to be confronted with it again – either physically or mentally. Damn and damn again. Even when she tried, she couldn’t get away from Oliver Queen.

Still, she had to focus on the here and now. There were more immediate problems, like figuring out where she was and who she was with. She remembered backing into an alley and playing a twisted game of tag around a truck with the Mirakuru guy. She had tried to make a run for it and then…and then…nothing. Had he gotten her? She doubted she was back in her hotel room and any other possibility her mind came up with wasn’t reassuring.

She decided to risk opening her eyes. The lids felt glued together and gritty, but they obeyed her command and the dull throbbing in her head turned into a sharp pain as the light hit her. She gasped.

Whatever she’d been expecting to see, it wasn’t this. As she’d feared, she wasn’t in her hotel room -- that was the bad news. The good news was that she didn’t appear to be in any kind of diabolical bad guy’s prison cell either. She was in a bedroom – someone’s bedroom – lying on her stomach in a large and comfortable bed, her head gently placed on its side on a soft, plump pillow. There was no madman with Mirakuru crazed eyes staring at her. There wasn’t even a normal looking bad guy. Instead there was a woman; a very beautiful woman sitting on a chair next to the bed, observing her quietly.

She had shoulder length dark hair and wide-set green eyes that suggested some kind of Asian ancestry. Those eyes were focused on Felicity’s face, and they expressed nothing but kindness and concern. Felicity gazed back and wondered if perhaps she were dead -- maybe the Mirakuru guy had indeed gotten her. Judaism wasn’t as specific about the afterlife as Christianity, but if there were such a thing as heaven and such beings as angels, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if they looked like this. Of all the words used to describe an attractive woman – glamorous, hot, stunning, pretty – the only one that fit this woman was beautiful. She didn’t appear to be wearing makeup, at least not like the glammed-up socialites Felicity was used to seeing in Starling, and yet her face was arresting. And it wasn’t her features alone -- it was her entire being that contributed to her beauty. She projected intelligence, strength, serenity and integrity. Felicity felt a small surge of pride. She must have done something right in her short life to be greeted by a being like this in the afterlife.

And then the woman spoke. “I think she’s coming to.”

Hmmm. Not exactly what you’d expect to hear when entering the pearly gates. Felicity shifted in the bed and felt the sharp pain across her back again. She didn’t think you were supposed to hurt like this in the next world either. Maybe she needed to rethink her _died and gone to heaven_ hypothesis. She grimaced.

The woman leaned forward. “Don’t worry, Felicity,” she said softly, “you’re safe now.” She turned to look over her shoulder just as a man joined her. He was tall, with dark hair and warm, brown eyes. Felicity felt a brief flash of recognition, but decided quickly that she must be mistaken. Other than J.T., she knew no one in New York, and she certainly would have remembered if she’d met this guy at the hacking convention. He would have stood out.

He bent over the bed. “Do you think you can sit up?” he asked quietly.

She frowned, but started to push herself up, gritting her teeth when her back protested. Noticing her expression, the man swiftly assisted her, placing his hands on her upper arms and gently turning her until she was sitting on the side of the bed, her feet dangling toward the floor. The room lurched for a few seconds, but then righted itself and stayed put.

The man pulled a penlight out of his pocket and flicked it on, the movement practiced and professional. “I want you to keep your head still and follow the light with your eyes,” he instructed. He held the light up and slowly moved it, first right and then left. She did her best to comply, hoping she wasn’t blushing at his steady observation.

He seemed pleased. “Good. Now, do you know what day it is?”

She thought a moment, “Tuesday? Or maybe Wednesday morning? I don’t know how long I was out.” Her voice was creaky, her dry mouth struggling to form words.

The man smiled, “We’ll get you some water in a minute. And it’s still Tuesday night. Do you know where you are?”

“New York City.” Her voice sounded a little stronger.

“Very good.” He leaned close, his face inches from hers, and shone the light into her eyes -- first one and then the other. He nodded and then straightened up.

“Pupils are responding and she doesn’t seem disoriented,” he said to the beautiful woman.

So apparently she wasn’t dead, or even close to dying. That was good. It also appeared that doctors still made house calls in New York, doctors who were quite attractive and wore a subtle but sexy aftershave. She studied the man’s face, figuring her wooziness could serve as an excuse for any perceived rudeness. It was a nice face; he had handsome features and a bit of scruff, just like Oliver, only darker. When he smiled, he looked unexpectedly boyish.

His eyes met hers and crinkled slightly, and she realized he’d been studying her just as closely as she was studying him. “Well, Felicity, you’ve certainly livened up our evening,” he said with humor.

Okay, so everyone seemed to know her name. They’d clearly had time to find out something about her. Now that her wits were returning, Felicity wanted a little more information about _them_. For example, what were their names? Where exactly was she? Why did her back hurt? And what on _earth_ was she wearing? It looked like a man’s tee shirt and, other than panties, she was pretty sure she didn’t have anything on underneath it. She didn’t like to think about any of the ways it might have ended up on her.

Looking over the brown-eyed man’s shoulder, she noticed two figures standing a short distance away. Things were blurry without her glasses, but she was pretty sure she recognized one of them. Maybe he could provide an explanation.

“J.T.?”

The taller figure raised one hand in greeting. “Hey Felicity,” J.T. acknowledged, taking a few steps closer to the bed. The second figure didn’t move, but appeared to be an olive-skinned woman with the figure of a supermodel. J.T. certainly hung out with a good-looking crowd.

“Where am I? And who are these people?” The minute she said it, she felt embarrassed. It had sounded childish and little rude.

The beautiful woman seated next to the bed didn’t seem to mind. “I’m sorry, Felicity, where are our manners? You know J.T. but you haven’t met the rest of us.” She leaned a little closer, “My name is Catherine, Catherine Chandler. I’m a detective with the NYPD, as well as a friend of J.T.’s. This,” she gestured to the man standing next to her, “is Vincent. You’ve probably figured out that he’s a doctor.” Vincent grinned briefly. “And back there,” Catherine continued, pointing toward the other woman, “is my partner, Tess.”

Tess waved a hand, “Hi, Felicity.” She paused and then added quickly, “We’re all dying to hear more about how you know Oliv--”

“I think Felicity could use some water,” Vincent interrupted, “before we start the interrogation. Maybe something to eat as well.” He turned to her, “How’s your stomach? Think you can keep something down? It might help with the headache.”

She nodded. She’d try anything to make this throbbing go away.

“Good.” Vincent looked over at J.T., “Have you got anything to eat around here besides your usual gummy worms? Crackers or a banana, something easy on the stomach?”

J.T. chuckled. “Pretty sure I have bananas,” he replied, “maybe even crackers or toast.”

“Great. Let’s go with the banana…get a little potassium into her.”

“Banana and a glass of water coming up.”

So she must be at J.T.’s place -- at J.T.’s place, sitting in J.T.’s bed, and probably wearing J.T.’s tee shirt. She wondered why they hadn’t taken her to a hospital. Even if she wasn’t at death’s door, she’d clearly been injured. Vincent might be a doctor, but he didn’t have access to a ton of medical equipment here and it all felt a bit makeshift. It made her think about Team Arrow and their reasons for avoiding hospitals. Did these four have secrets to keep as well? She suddenly remembered J.T.’s story about needing hacking help for a friend who clandestinely came to people’s aid. Was one of these people the friend he had been talking about? It would explain the decision to circumvent official channels. On the other hand, the two women had introduced themselves as police detectives -- surely they would object to any kind of vigilantism. It all didn’t make sense, but then her faculties hadn’t fully returned yet. Maybe water and food were a good idea.

As if on cue, J.T. was in front of her, handing her a glass of water. She took a sip. It felt marvelous, soothing her throat and adding cool moisture to her parched mouth. The sip turned into a couple of gulps.

“Easy,” Vincent stilled the glass by placing a hand on her forearm. “Let’s give it a minute to see whether it stays down.”

There was an expectant silence, while everyone studied Felicity’s face and she studied the sensations in her stomach, all of them waiting for signs of nausea. She noticed Tess, still in the back of the room, pick up a plastic trash can and start to move closer to the bed.

It was not necessary -- her stomach seemed fine with the water. At Vincent’s nod, she took a few more swallows. All good. The banana soon followed.

“Here,” J.T. produced her glasses from his front pocket, “you’ll probably want these.” She slid them on her face, taking a moment to look around as the things came into sharper focus. J.T.’s bedroom was slightly cluttered and very masculine. He must live here alone, she thought, because there were no female touches anywhere. She noticed the four of them watching her intently, with oddly similar expressions. It was more than just concern for her health – it was as if they were waiting for her to say something special or unusual. It was the same look people had when anticipating a storm warning or an emergency news bulletin. She wondered exactly what J.T. had told them.

“I feel okay,” she said, happy that her voice sounded clearer and stronger. “But I think I’d like to know what happened. How did I end up here? And why does my back hurt so much?”

Catherine looked at both Vincent and J.T. and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should start by telling us what _you_ remember,” she said cautiously.

So it was up to her to go first. What Felicity remembered was going to sound strange, yet based on their expectant faces she didn’t think it was going to be a complete surprise. Still, she wasn’t sure how much she should reveal. They seemed to be a tight-knit group. In fact, they reminded her a little of Oliver, Digg and herself -- or at least Oliver, Digg and herself when it had just been the three of them, before Kick-ass Sara and before Gorgeous Laurel. These four were clearly a team, bound together by _something_. She wondered just what that _something_ was, and whether it had anything to do with them bringing her to J.T.’s place instead of a hospital.

There was only one way to find out. As odd as her story might sound, J.T. had been there, too. Hell, he’d been the one who had been _thrown_ down the sidewalk. If he didn’t corroborate her account, if he denied what had happened, then she probably needed to get out of here quickly because he wasn’t the good guy she had taken him to be and his friends probably weren’t as well-intentioned as they appeared.

Watching his face, she said slowly, “I remember leaving the hacking convention and walking back to the Hilton. Two guys came up to me and one of them stuck in a needle in my arm.” She paused and turned toward Vincent, “Is that why I feel like I have a hangover?”

He nodded and said, “Yup. They shot you up with some kind of sedative -- we’re not sure what it is yet. We drew a little of your blood, but J.T. hasn’t had time to test it.”

Okay - so far, so good. They hadn’t tried to pretend that she’d just passed out. She returned her gaze to J.T. and continued, “I tried to get away, but the second guy kept following me. I don’t know how you got there, but I remember seeing you try to stop him. You grabbed his arm and then…then…” she fell silent. The next part was really the test – once she said it, there could be no feigning that this was a garden-variety kidnapping attempt.

“And then?” Catherine prompted.

Felicity took a deep breath, “And then the guy picked J.T. up and threw him down the sidewalk. _Threw_ him like he weighed nothing.” She stared him in the eye, daring him to contradict her.

To her immense relief, he didn’t. He looked at Vincent, raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“Yeah, he threw me,” J.T. confirmed.

Not one of them questioned it. Apparently, super-human strength was a regular phenomenon in NYC because these four were taking it in their stride. It was enough encouragement for her to keep going. “And I could also swear that the guy’s eyes changed. That’s new -- I’ve never seen _that_ before. I mean the guys in Starling were just as strong, but they didn’t--”

“Wait,” Catherine interrupted, “you’ve seen this before? In Starling City?” That part _had_ caught them by surprise. The four of them exchanged significant looks.

Felicity nodded, “Yeah, we had a huge problem a couple of months ago – you may have seen it on the news? A lunatic put together an army and tried to take over Starling.”

J.T. said thoughtfully, “I remember hearing something about _rioting_ in the city. I thought the police called in the National Guard and got it under control quickly. It only made the news for a day or two, and never really made the headlines.”

Felicity scoffed, “That’s because the story was sanitized. What the news didn’t tell you was that the rioters were really soldiers charged up on a drug – Mirakuru – that gave them super-strength and made them just about indestructible. They looked an awful lot like our guy on the sidewalk this evening. The only way we… I mean _the police_ ,” she corrected quickly, “were able to regain control was by getting an antidote into them. It took their strength and aggression away, made them vulnerable again.”

“An antidote?” Catherine asked quickly. “You mean there was a cure? Was it permanent and who developed it?” She was looking at Vincent with a strangely hopeful expression.

“It was developed in Central City by S.T.A.R. Labs,” Felicity explained.

Vincent’s voice was more measured than Catherine’s. “Did you hear anything about who developed Mirakuru itself? You mentioned an army – did any kind of military agency create the drug?”

Felicity shook her head, “Not the US military. I was told the Japanese first created the drug in World War II. Some doctor named Anthony Ivo managed to get a hold of it a few years ago and figured out how to start manufacturing it again.” She noticed Catherine’s buoyant expression fall a little.

Tess spoke up for the first time, “You seem to know a lot about something that you say the powers-that-be covered up. How exactly did you find out about Mirakuru, if it wasn’t in the press?” Her tone reminded Felicity sharply that Tess, along with Catherine, was a cop. Detective Lance used that same tone when he was suspicious. Felicity wondered if they taught it at the police academy.

She pursed her lips. She really couldn’t divulge more about Slade Wilson’s army of super-soldiers without telling them that he had brought it to Starling in order to get revenge on Oliver. It would sound fantastical and, more importantly, wasn’t her secret to tell. She needed some other plausible explanation.

Fortunately, J.T. supplied it. “I told you she’s an expert hacker,” he said to Tess. “If something strange were going on in your neighborhood wouldn’t you do whatever you could to find out what it was? Felicity probably hacked into a few law enforcement databases.” He turned to her for confirmation.

“Maybe,” Tess said skeptically, before Felicity could respond. The tall police detective exchanged a doubtful look with her more petite partner before turning her cop-stare back on Felicity, “So who exactly did you hack, then, to find out about the Mirakuru – the local police? The Feds?”

Felicity hesitated, and then decided _what the hell_. She couldn’t tell them about Oliver, but she could stick to the facts as much as possible. “I hacked ARGUS, mainly,” she replied. “I also had access to a couple of …local sources…who knew what was really going on.” She made herself stop there.

There was a lengthy silence, and then Catherine said slowly, “You’re telling us you can hack into ARGUS? Their security is tighter than the CIA’s. J.T. said you were good, but still…” Her voice wasn’t as distrustful as Tess’s, but she clearly had her misgivings.

Felicity looked at the four of them and said carefully, “If it’s on a network, I can usually find it.”

There was another silence, during which J.T. and Tess appeared to be having some kind of staring contest. Felicity figured they were questioning whether she was the type to brag or make up stories – well, Tess was questioning, anyhow. J.T. was looking a little smug. She could tell _he_ believed her.

Catherine broke the stalemate. “Well, if you really are that good of a hacker, we have a motive for _why_ someone might want to kidnap you,” she said practically. “They’re probably desperate to find some information and figure you can do it for them. However, it doesn’t get us any closer to _whom_. Did you recognize either of the two men?”

Felicity shook her head, “No, although everything happened pretty fast.” She looked toward J.T., “You thought they followed me from the convention?”

He nodded.

“Then I was thinking I could get the list of the conference attendees and bump the names up against a few intelligence databases. Maybe something will pop.”

Tess arched her eyebrows. “You realize that people preparing to commit a crime aren’t likely to use their real names, right?” she asked sarcastically. Damn -- the woman was tough. Felicity wondered whether she was like this all the time, or only when blonde hackers from Starling came to town. Maybe in a quieter moment she could ask J.T.

Still, even with Tess’s sharpness, Felicity was feeling better. With a mission to accomplish and databases to hack, she was on familiar turf. She smiled for the first time since she’d awoken. “Yes, I understand that,” she agreed. “That’s why I thought I’d also look for footage from the hotel security cameras. We could run any photos we find through facial recognition.”

“How long do you think it will take to do all that?” J.T. asked.

Felicity sighed, “My head still feels a little fuzzy from the drug. Fifteen minutes maybe? Depends on your internet speed.”

J.T. laughed, “Seriously, how long.”

Felicity gave him a puzzled look, “Seriously -- fifteen minutes to set up the searches, and then we let them run overnight. If you take me to your computer we can get started now.” She slid off the bed and grimaced as she felt the familiar, sharp pain in her back. Vincent reached out quickly and took her elbow to steady her. She noticed him glance briefly at her legs and was reminded that she was wearing nothing but a man’s tee shirt. She decided to ignore that fact for the moment. -- after all, it hung down to mid-thigh and she’d worn skirts that were shorter. Not that Oliver had ever noticed.

“What happened to my back, anyway?” Felicity asked.

J.T. looked briefly toward Vincent as if to ask permission. When Vincent nodded, J.T. continued, “The guy who threw me down the sidewalk?”

Felicity nodded.

“Well, he kind of clawed your back when you tried to run past him. You don’t remember?”

She shook her head, “No I don’t. _Clawed?_ ”

“Yeah. Your Mirakuru guys in Starling didn’t grow claws?”

“No.”

J.T. looked at Vincent again, “Maybe these aren’t the same guys.”

Vincent looked thoughtful, but it was Catherine who spoke, “Well, I’d like to find out. Let’s get Felicity to your computer so she can get those searches running.”

His hand still on her elbow, Vincent gently guided Felicity forward toward the bedroom door. “I almost forgot to mention,” he said as they left the room, “but you and I have a friend in common.”

“We do?” Felicity had never heard any of her friends mention a good-looking doctor named Vincent.

“John Diggle.” The name was said with respect.

“Digg? You know Digg?” She felt her heart lift a little. If Digg liked Vincent, then the doctor _had_ to be a good man.

“We served together in Afghanistan.”

“Oh.” Another thought struck her. “How do you know that I know Digg?”

Vincent looked slightly embarrassed. “He called while you were still unconscious. I may have answered your phone and talked with him.”

“Did you tell him what happened?”

“Yes.” They were entering what must be J.T.’s living room. It was unusual to say the least – the ceiling had to be at least fifteen feet high and the walls were a beautiful, white stone. With a dark, wooden bar situated against one wall, the place felt like a cross between a museum and a stately, old men’s club. Felicity wondered how on earth J.T. came to make this his home.

“He’s on his way here,” Vincent’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“What?”

“Digg – he’s on his way here. He clearly cares about you – had nothing but good things to say.”

Felicity felt both a warm spark and a twinge of guilt. She loved that Digg was concerned enough to come all the way to New York, but felt bad about taking him away from his pregnant girlfriend. Vincent hadn’t mentioned Oliver. She figured Oliver was probably hunkered down with Laurel, working to reinstate himself as Queen Consolidated’s CEO and too busy to worry about her present predicament. No, Felicity reminded herself -- that was childish and unfair. Oliver had killed the Count when her life had been at risk; if he thought she were in physical danger, he would be here in an instant. He was only indifferent when it came to her heart.

She sat down at J.T.’s computer. She was pleased to see that although it was an off-the-shelf model, he had maxed out on memory and storage. She should be able to work with this. J.T. and his three friends gathered around her. She could almost feel them thinking: _Let’s see how good she really is_.

It took her about thirty seconds to hack the convention registration website and pull up the list of attendees. It looked to be about two hundred people, almost all men. She sneaked a glance at Tess. If the woman was impressed, she didn’t show it.

“Do you see any names that you recognize?” Catherine asked.

Felicity shook her head, “No.” She typed quickly to create her program, some of the urls and IP addresses committed to memory after doing this so many times. “I just set up code to bump the names and addresses against DMV databases in the fifty states. Assuming they have drivers’ licenses, we should have pictures in the morning.”

Tess and Catherine exchanged looks. Felicity wondered if they were thinking about the laws controlling access to DMV records that she had just broken. Fortunately, they didn’t say anything.

“Now for the hotel security cameras.” It took her closer to a minute to pull up footage from the convention. There was a lot of it; cameras had recorded people entering and leaving the main lecture room and had also captured a couple of views looking down on the cocktail hour. She bent her head and typed steadily for five minutes.

“This program will compare faces from the hotel footage to a few databases,” she explained. “I picked NYPD’s criminal database, as well as FBI and ARGUS. Any others you think I should include? I assumed this was likely to be domestic. If we don’t find anything in the morning I could try adding Interpol.” She glanced up at Catherine and Tess.

At least now they looked a little impressed. J.T. appeared stunned. “It would have taken me half a day to do that, and I still wouldn’t have been able to include ARGUS.” He grinned like a kid at her, “What’s next?”

She wished she could share his enthusiasm but as suddenly as it had come, her energy left. She felt tired, events from the past few hours catching up with her. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go back to my hotel and sleep. We can review the results in the morning.”

Catherine shook her head firmly, “You can’t go back to your hotel. There’s a good chance they’re still watching it.” The other three nodded. “I think,” she continued, “that you should stay here. You can sleep in Vincent’s old room – Vincent and I can share the couch.”

 _Vincent and I_. So those two were a couple? Felicity hadn’t picked up on that before. Now that the words were out, however, she wondered how she’d missed it. They gazed at each other an awful lot, and there was a unique warmth in their eyes every time they did so. It was nice, but also a little depressing. She had believed, months ago, that Oliver sometimes looked at her with a similar warmth; now she knew it was all in her imagination.

She turned toward J.T., “I really don’t want to impose…”

“No,” J.T. affirmed, “Cat’s right. You’ll be safer here. Besides, I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do with your searches in the morning.” Sounding like any host he added, “I’ll show you where the bathroom is and get you some towels. I think I might have an extra toothbrush, too.” Felicity smiled gratefully and started to rise.

“Wait,” Tess’s voice was sharp, “I have a couple more questions.”

Felicity sat back down. She looked up nervously and was surprised to see Tess grinning. It transformed her entirely – the serious cop had been replaced by a younger, more fun-loving woman. Seeing her like this, Felicity realized that they probably weren’t that far apart in age.

“Now that we’ve got the hacking out of the way,” Tess said, “I want to hear about Oliver Queen.” At Felicity’s surprised face she added, “He tried to call you several times. Well, more than several times, actually.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, “How do you know him? Are you two dating? And is he as hot in person as he is in his pictures?” J.T. frowned.

Felicity shook her head, “No…”

“No, he’s not hot, or no you’re not dating?”

“No,” Felicity said slowly, “we’re not dating. He is… _was_ …my boss. I was his executive assistant at Queen Consolidated when he was CEO.” She couldn’t think how else to describe their relationship.

“And he still calls you?”

Felicity smiled a little sadly, “Yes. He’s used to me helping him with computer stuff. And he’s a little impatient - he likes people being available when he needs help.” That certainly was a true statement. Hoping she hadn’t been too transparent and trying to lighten the mood, she joked, “You know how the wealthy can be. They’re used to having people at their beck and call.”

“I wouldn’t know – I don’t exactly hang around with a rich crowd,” Tess grinned at her friends. They all chuckled.

Felicity prayed they wouldn’t ask anything more about Oliver. With all that had happened over the last few months – his relationship with Sara, the fake _I love you,_ and Laurel becoming part of the team -- she really didn’t know where the two of them stood anymore. She thought about the time he had called her his partner. Back then the word had made her happy, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember why. “Partner” was such a nebulous word; _business_ _partner, partner in crime, life partner, bed partner_ …She was at best one of the four, his partner in crime -- batting .250. She noticed that Catherine was watching her carefully, her eyes thoughtful and compassionate. None of the others seemed to have picked up on it, but she had the feeling that Catherine had sensed her melancholy.

She was grateful when Vincent said, “Enough questions. As Felicity’s doctor,” he grinned at her, “I’m ordering her to get some sleep. We can take this up in the morning.”

* * *

 

 

Oliver Queen didn’t last more than 30 minutes in the coach section of the airplane, although to be fair, it really wasn’t his fault. Sometimes it was just good to be Oliver Queen.

Given that Oliver had rarely flown commercial, let alone economy, Diggle had done his best to educate him about the benefits of the exit row during their drive to the airport. For two men over six feet tall, a few extra inches of leg room on a cross-country flight could be the difference between mere discomfort and complete misery. Digg suggested that Oliver do his best to resurrect his pre-island Ollie-charm and persuade the check-in attendant to switch their seats. For the most part, Oliver had been silent and brooding on the way to the airport, but he had agreed to Digg’s request.

And lo and behold, it had worked. Oliver had lowered his voice and blinked those baby-blues, and now he and Digg were sitting on the two aisle seats of the exit row. Given that it was a night flight, Digg anticipated stretching out his legs after takeoff and maybe catching a few z’s. They were due to land early in NYC and it would be a good idea to be somewhat rested. He was really looking forward to seeing Vincent Keller again.

The flight attendants and his fellow passengers had other ideas.

It started while folks were still boarding. Diggle never actually heard anything – not a whisper, not a question – but somehow word that _the_ Oliver Queen was on the plane had spread quickly. While 172 passengers in economy received the terse “that bag has to be stowed for takeoff,” the 173rd -- Oliver Queen -- ended up with a pillow, a blanket, a can of soda and five bags of peanuts from a flight attendant who seemed more than willing to arrange the blanket on his lap for him. It earned Oliver a few glares from the men seated in the area, but he regained a little goodwill by handing out the peanuts.

It only got worse when they were airborne. Once the seatbelt light was off, at least a third of the female passengers decided they needed to use the restroom. Digg was treated to a steady stream of women, ages ranging from twenty to fifty, standing in the aisle and hovering over Oliver. He gave extra credit to the thirty-something redhead who faked turbulence and ended up in Oliver’s lap. She did her best to give him the opportunity for a good grope, but Oliver simply smiled politely and set her back on her feet. Digg almost felt sorry for her. Once Oliver had a good brooding session going it was tough to shake him out of his funk. In fact, the only woman he knew with the power to do it was in NYC with his army buddy, Vincent, at this very moment.

It didn’t take long for the flight crew to decide that this was a safety hazard. After four requests from the captain for folks to stay in their seats as well as a brusque reminder of TSA safety rules, a flight attendant from the front of the aircraft came down the aisle and politely asked Oliver if he’d like to sit in first class. When Oliver queried whether they had a second seat available for his bodyguard, she gently but firmly said no. With an apologetic shrug at Diggle, Oliver followed her up the aisle to no doubt find champagne, a hot meal and the chance for a decent night’s sleep. Digg was left to pull over Oliver’s blanket, tuck it around himself, and try to sleep in the miniscule seat that didn’t recline. He was marginally successful.

The plane landed five hours later in New York, with the morning sun still below the horizon. Digg patiently waited his turn to deplane, trying to stretch the kinks out of his back and shoulders. He felt irritable and in need of a shower and a toothbrush. When he got to the front of the aircraft, Oliver was waiting for him in first class looking groomed and rested, although still a little wound up. Digg guessed that would last until he saw Felicity for himself. Right before stepping out of the aircraft onto the jetway, Digg watched the petite brunette flight attendant push a napkin into Oliver’s hand.

“It was a pleasure serving you, Mr. Queen,” she said suggestively. “I hope you have a very good time in New York.”

Oliver merely smiled and said, “Thank you.”

As they emerged into the terminal, Digg couldn’t help but ask, “She give you her phone number?”

Oliver paused to look at the napkin. He frowned, “Her phone number and her three favorite things to do with whipped cream, apparently.”

“Anything interesting?”

Oliver shrugged, “Not really. Been there, done that.”

Smug bastard.

As they passed a trash can, Oliver crumpled up the napkin and threw it away without a second look. Twenty yards later, when they reached a another trash can, he said to Digg, “Hang on a second.”

He pulled at least four more napkins out of his pocket and tossed those into the garbage as well.

“Okay,” he said crisply, “let’s go see Felicity.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, bushlaboo, for talking this story up. I'm sure some of the reads and kudos are due to you. For folks who didn't catch it on tumblr - bushie's summary of this story is much better than mine, particularly the description of Oliver as a "big, dumb pine tree."
> 
> And with this chapter we finally get into Oliver's head...

Did New York City ever not have traffic?

It was barely 6:30 in the morning and still the ride from JFK to downtown was taking forever. Oliver glanced at Diggle seated next to him in the back of the cab and couldn’t understand how the man was able to stay so calm. Normally he valued Digg’s presence of mind, but at the moment it was downright irritating. They had nothing but the word of some guy named Vincent -- a man Oliver had never met and Diggle hadn’t seen in ten years -- that Felicity was all right. More than twelve hours (twelve hours!) had elapsed since someone had drugged her and tried to kidnap her. He and Digg had flown across the entire country to ensure her safety only to get stuck in this fucking tangle of cars for the final twenty miles. It was enough to make Oliver want to put his fist through the window. And Diggle, the very same Diggle who had ripped him a new one for putting Felicity in danger with Slade a few weeks ago, was making small talk with the cabdriver about the local football team as if it were any other day.

When at last they reached Manhattan, the drive only got worse. The sunrise commute was beginning to kick in and they had to sit through one and sometimes two cycles at each traffic light before they could progress. Oliver watched the morning bike messengers weave nimbly in and out of the cars, covering entire blocks while he and Digg were stuck in the stationary cab. He fought the urge to swing the car door into one of the cyclists and steal the bike. Maybe they were close enough to Digg’s friend’s place to walk – it had to be faster than this.

“Excuse me,” he abruptly cut into Digg’s unnecessary conversation with the cabbie about the Giant’s chances of getting to the Super Bowl, “but how much farther?”

Digg looked at him and raised his eyebrows. The expression clearly said: _What the hell, Oliver?_

The driver glanced at his GPS. “About ten blocks.”

Ten blocks. Not bad. “Let us out here,” he ordered, “we can walk the rest of the way.”

“Oliver…” Digg began.

Oliver wasn’t in the mood. “Digg, we’re not moving.” He gestured out the window at the cars all around them. “We can get there faster on foot. Let’s go.” He grabbed his small duffle off the floor of the cab and reached for the door handle.

Diggle didn’t budge. Whether it was because of or in spite of his years in the army, Oliver sometimes found Digg reluctant to follow commands. The man could be stubborn, annoyingly confident in his own perception of a situation. This looked like it was shaping up to be one of those times. Digg stared at him and shook his head. “As I was about to say, Oliver,” he continued with exaggerated patience, “it’s only7:00 in the morning. There’s a chance everyone’s still asleep – that _she’s_ still asleep. It wouldn’t hurt if it took us another half hour to get there.”

Oliver frowned, “If Felicity’s still asleep when we get there, we won’t wake her. If your army buddy’s protecting her like you say he is, then _he_ should be awake. She was drugged – someone should have kept watch during the night.” He knew he was beginning to glare at Digg, but he just couldn’t help himself. Felicity wasn’t some casual guest – she was staying with this army doctor guy because she’d been given an unknown substance. “You told me he could take care of her. _That’s_ what taking care of her means – keeping watch over her, not sleeping.”

Diggle opened his mouth and then closed it, clearly biting back some kind of reply. Even without hearing the words, Oliver had a pretty good idea of what Digg had been going to say because Oliver had said the same things to himself over the last few weeks. Digg would say that Oliver had no right to preach about protecting Felicity when he had set her up to be taken by Slade Wilson in order to get the Mirakuru cure into that homicidal lunatic. Digg would say that Oliver had put the wellbeing of his city above the safety of a partner he was currently professing to be so concerned about. He would say that Oliver had taken advantage of Felicity’s tendency to be too brave for her own good and, without consulting anyone, had endangered her beyond all measure. Digg would say that Oliver was a hypocrite. Digg would say…a lot of things, apparently, for a man who was sitting there with his mouth shut. Oliver made himself stop this line of thinking. Whatever Digg might think, the situation with Slade Wilson wasn’t the same as this one now. They had been at war, and in war you had to do desperate things. Digg, of all people, should understand that. If Oliver had the chance to go back and change his actions, he wasn’t sure he would do anything differently because, after all, they had succeeded and Felicity had survived. This time…this time Felicity had gone off and found trouble all on her own, independent of Oliver.

He looked up to find Diggle watching him closely with an unreadable expression. Felicity had once joked that Digg could see into thoughts the same way Superman could see through concrete, and Oliver wondered whether Digg had picked up on any of his internal dialog. He decided he didn’t want to know, and it was better to get back to the matter at hand – they were wasting time. “Look, I realize it’s early,” he said firmly, “but I’m sure they’ll understand that we’re concerned about a friend.” He tried a different tack, “And I don’t think I can take sitting any longer. I need to _do_ something. Let’s walk.”

When Digg sighed and shrugged but didn’t argue, Oliver opened the door of the cab and stepped out into the street. Digg gave the cabbie an apologetic smile, paid the fare, and then followed.

Oliver was forced to rethink his _they’ll understand_ theory when, fifteen minutes later, they knocked on a door and it was answered by a man who looked as though he had just rolled out of bed and didn’t appreciate the early visit. He was barefoot, wearing sweatpants and a rumpled tee shirt, and his dark hair stuck out untidily in several directions. He scowled and opened his mouth as if he were about to complain, but then stopped when he saw the two men standing on his doorstep.

“Digg?” The scowl began to transform itself into smile.

“Keller?” A similar smile was forming on Digg’s face.

The two men stared at each other with mutual looks of disbelief and joy.

Keller spoke first, “You haven’t changed at all, Digg. You look great -- fit enough to still be in the service. I can’t believe you’re standing here.”

Digg laughed, “Thanks. And you look pretty damn good for a guy who was killed in action.”

“I do, don’t I?”

They hugged in a brotherly way, chuckling and slapping each other on the back.

Oliver studied the man. So this was Digg’s army buddy, Vincent Keller – the doctor who was taking care of Felicity. Given that Digg had said they had served together a decade ago, Oliver had been expecting to see someone a little more _civilian_ looking, a little less _fit_. Of course, Digg had stayed in fighting shape, but he worked in security. Keller was a doctor. Oliver had imagined a man well into his thirties who spent his days in a hospital and his evenings at home with his wife – a weekend warrior with a receding hairline who passed an hour at the gym three nights a week and was still developing a small paunch as he left his years in the service behind.

The guy in front of him was physical specimen; he had broad shoulders narrowing down to a flat stomach, and biceps that suggested hours of concentration curls with heavy weights. He also had a full head of hair and a face that Oliver was sure many women would find attractive. He looked as good as…as… Oliver -- and not very much older. Oliver didn’t know if Keller had ever heard of a salmon ladder, but he had a feeling that climbing one wouldn’t pose much of a challenge. Oh – and Oliver also noticed that his left hand appeared entirely free of a wedding ring. He wondered whether Felicity had noticed all the same things when she had regained consciousness. Had she first opened her eyes to find this man carrying her in those arms?

Digg stepped back out of the hug with his pal but continued grinning widely, “Oliver, meet Vincent Keller, the army buddy I told you about.” Keller turned toward Oliver and nodded. He appeared curious and maybe even a little amused. Oliver wondered if he was recalling any of Oliver’s well-publicized, pre-island antics. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Vincent,” Digg continued, “Meet Oliver Queen. You two have something in common – you both came back from the dead.”

Keller laughed, “I hope your resurrection was less painful than mine, Mr. Queen.” He extended his hand.

Oliver took it and gripped a little harder than was necessary. “I wouldn’t bet on it, Dr. Keller,” he replied evenly. When Keller glanced speculatively at their clasped hands Oliver amended in a more friendly tone, “And please, call me Oliver.”

“Will do, Oliver. And you can call me Vincent.”

“Is Felicity awake?” Oliver hadn’t meant to jump to the question right away, but then he also had to know.

And there it was again, that twinkle of fun in Keller’s eyes. Keller glanced briefly toward Diggle before replying to Oliver, “She is. We couldn’t help noticing yesterday that you seemed very anxious to get in touch with her. We thought about answering her phone and explaining what was going on, but Digg told us he’d take care of it.” So Keller’s amusement stemmed from Oliver’s attempts to call Felicity, not his reputation? He hadn’t called _that_ many times. “I hope that she isn’t in any trouble back in Starling,” Keller continued. “You’re very…” he paused as he searched for a word, “ _devoted_ … to your employees, Oliver -- or your former employees. I think Felicity said she used to be your executive assistant?” His voice became more sober, “Anyway, whatever you need, please go easy on her. She had a very tough day.”

Felicity had discussed him with Keller? They’d only known each other for twelve hours and she had been unconscious for a good part of that time. That seemed like a pretty fast move from _receiving medical attention_ to _sharing personal details_. And had she really just described him as her boss…correction, ex-boss, who would certainly appear as something of an ass for calling so frequently? Sure, she couldn’t talk about Arrow business, but couldn’t she have found a description that was a little less impersonal and a little more flattering? And who the hell was Vincent Keller to be telling him how he should act with Felicity anyway?

Oliver cleared his throat. “Actually, I consider Felicity a friend,” he said, trying not to sound defensive. “And she’s not in trouble. I was just concerned about her. I still am.”

He was hoping that would be enough of a hint for Keller to bring them back to see her. It was the obvious next step. However, the man didn’t move and the three of them stood there awkwardly, with Digg doing nothing to help. There was no sign of it on his face, but Oliver could swear Diggle was enjoying his discomfort. These days, Digg always seemed to making some kind of point about Felicity.

Exasperated at having to spell it out, he said, “Can I – _we_ – see her… _now?_ ” He intended to make it sound like a question and not a demand, but didn’t entirely succeed.

Keller glanced toward Diggle as if seeking permission, furthering Oliver’s frustration. Only when Digg gave a small nod did Keller reply, “Of course, come on back. She’s at the computer with J.T. right now. She ran some searches last night and they’re looking at photos to see if they can ID the guys who tried to grab her.”

J.T.? Digg hadn’t mentioned a J.T. Who the fuck was J.T.? And why did Keller seem comfortable with investigating the abduction attempt themselves instead of turning the case over to the police? He was a doctor – kidnappings shouldn’t exactly be in his wheelhouse. Not that Oliver minded the proactive approach, but it seemed a little… _Arrow-like_.

Vincent led them down a short hallway and they emerged into a large room with a high ceiling. Oliver spotted her immediately and let out his breath – Felicity looked alert, healthy and entirely herself in front of computer. Well, not _entirely_ herself, Oliver corrected. This was definitely a look he hadn’t seen on Felicity before.

And after two years he thought he’d seen them all – _professional, evening formal, hiking around on Lian Yu, disheveled and bloody in the face of_ _near-apocalypse_ – but evidently he’d missed out on _just tumbled out of bed_. Because he would certainly have remembered if he’d seen her like this. She looked incredibly young, her face free of makeup and her full lips a little pale. Her hair was tousled and loose over her shoulders and she was wearing…what was she wearing?...a man’s tee shirt, apparently, and nothing but a man’s tee shirt. The shirt rode up to mid-thigh as she sat in the chair, revealing her toned legs and brightly painted toes. Totally focused on her task, she was a curious mixture of innocence and sexiness. Oliver realized that for all their time together, there were certain boundaries he and Felicity had never crossed. Seeing her first thing in the morning, before she had put on whatever she needed to face the world, was one of them.

And J.T.? J.T. turned out to be another guy…not a bad looking guy, but not exactly in Vincent’s league. J.T., in fact, seemed very much the kind of guy Oliver had always imagined Felicity might end up with. He wore glasses and had a bookish air about him – Oliver guessed that he loved technology, too. Like Vincent, he wasn’t dressed for the day; he was still wearing flannel sleep pants, with bare feet and bed-hair. For having just met, the three of them seemed cozy and comfortable with each other. If Oliver hadn’t known better, it would be easy to believe that they were three long-time roommates hanging around in their PJ’s on a lazy morning.

Felicity and J.T. had their heads close together as they stared at the photos on the computer monitor. Neither had seen him come in; they were too engrossed.

“Felicity?”

At the sound of his voice, she jumped in her chair. “Oliver!” She turned to look at him and her eyes lit up the same way they did when he returned to the foundry from a particularly tricky mission. For a second he thought she might get up to hug him, but then she settled back in her seat and the hopeful expression on her face became more measured. He felt a small pang of disappointment. She looked past him and said, “Digg,” in a relieved tone.

“Hey Felicity,” Diggle walked over to her chair and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. It was the type of gesture Oliver used to make before the whole _Slade/I love you thing_. “How are you feeling?” The words were mundane, but his tone spoke volumes about his concern.

She smiled up at him, “I’m okay, Digg. Vincent’s been taking good care of me.” She flashed a grateful look at the tall, dark-haired man and Keller smiled back warmly. Oliver felt a little annoyed, although for the life of him he wasn’t sure why. The fact that she was in capable hands should be good news.

Digg grinned, ruffling her already wild hair. “He’s a good doctor -- I hope you’re being a cooperative patient,” he teased. “In fact, I thought maybe you’d still be resting. I told Oliver we should give you a little more time to wake up and get dressed, but he wouldn’t listen. Insisted we come here straight from the airport. We haven’t even had coffee yet.”

Felicity laughed, “Well, J.T. made a big pot of coffee, so we can help out there. As for getting dressed, I have nothing to put on at the moment – my clothes are still at the hotel. Tess and Catherine are picking them up, along with breakfast.”

Tess and Catherine - two more names for Oliver to process. At least they were female names. He wondered whether Felicity was as comfortable with the women as she appeared to be with J.T. and Vincent. In all their time together he’d never heard Felicity mention doing things with a girlfriend, but then he supposed she hadn’t had much time for one. Digg’s words about always wanting Felicity by his side popped into his head. It had just seemed natural, to Oliver, to have her there. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might want to do other things.

Coming back to the present, he also wondered whether it was a good idea for two women to go to Felicity’s hotel room alone. After all, someone had essentially been stalking her and it was a logical place for the kidnappers to be waiting. He was surprised that both Keller and J.T. seemed unconcerned.

Diggle frowned and voiced Oliver’s thoughts, “You realize that whoever tried to take Felicity might be watching her room? I hope your friends are careful.”

Vincent responded, “I think I told you that we have a couple of friends who are cops? Well, it’s Catherine and Tess. They know how to spot trouble – believe me, they’ve been in much stickier situations.”

“And they can both kick butt,” J.T. spoke up for the first time. “I’ve seen Cat take down guys twice her size.”

He stood up and extended a hand to Digg, “J.T. Forbes.”

Digg shook it. “John Diggle. You can call me Digg.”

“Good to meet you, Digg. Vincent speaks highly of you.”

Diggle looked over at Vincent and grinned, “Happy to hear it, although I hope he hasn’t been telling too many stories. We were pretty young – we may have done a few stupid things back then.”

Vincent laughed, “I haven’t had time yet. We’ll get to the stories later.”

J.T. Forbes walked over to Oliver, and his extended his hand once again, “J.T. Forbes.”

“Oliv…”

“Yeah, you’re Oliver Queen.” Behind J.T.’s glasses, there was a gleam in his eye that was similar to the one Keller had had when he first met Oliver. “We saw your face on Felicity’s phone quite a few times last night. In fact, we had bets going on the number of times you were going to call her.”

So apparently his calls were a standing joke. Oliver felt his face flush – a rare thing for him – and he looked over at Felicity to find her staring at him with a slightly perplexed expression. Surely she understood, despite what she’d said to these people, that he hadn’t been calling because he’d wanted something from her. She had to know that he’d always look out for her.

He answered J.T., but his words were for Felicity. “I was worried,” he said gently, “Felicity’s never more than five feet from her phone. When she didn’t pick up I had the feeling that something might be wrong.” He swallowed heavily, “And I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have been when she left for New York. I wanted to get in touch to make sure things were okay.” It was a lame apology, but it was the best he could do in front of strangers.

She must have understood at least a little, because her face softened and Oliver found himself walking over to join Diggle by her side. When Felicity looked up at him there was something in her eyes that reminded him of when they had first met – an uncertainty about him that made him want to assure her that he could be trusted. God, she looked so young, so… _not_ jaded. He reached out, intending to take one of her hands as he sometimes had in the past.

His phone rang.

He looked at the damned thing. It was Laurel… _oh crap, Laurel_ …they had made plans to meet early this morning before she went into work to go over her thoughts on getting his company back. He’d forgotten all about it once Digg had told him about Felicity’s attempted kidnapping. Well, there was not much he could do about it now. He tapped the _Ignore_ button.

“Felicity…”

The phone rang again. Laurel could be stubborn that way. He had a feeling it was going to keep on ringing.

He answered it, “Hello?”

“Ollie? Where are you? We were supposed to meet at 5:30. It’s almost 5:45 -- I’m at the foundry now.” Her tone was both plaintive and disapproving.

Oliver sighed, “Look, Laurel...” he saw Felicity stiffen at the name, “something’s come up and I’m going to be away for a few days. I apologize for not letting you know, especially when you got up so early, but it’s kind of an emergency. Can we talk about Queen Consolidated when I get back?”

He heard her sharp _tsk_ on the other end of the line, and for a second thought she was going to deliver one of her responsibility lectures similar to the ones she used to give him before he’d been marooned on the island. She must have caught herself, however, because she quickly lowered her voice and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Is it _Arrow_ business? Can I help?” She sounded eager and excited, her disapproval forgotten. He closed his eyes briefly and wondered if this was indicative of how she was forever going to see him -- as either Irresponsible Ollie or The Arrow -- the two ends of a spectrum, rather than just as Oliver Queen.

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly, “but it’s…not that. I’m in New York with Digg and Felicity and we just have…something we need to take care of. I can tell you more about it when we get back.”

“Digg and Felicity,” she repeated. “And you’re saying it’s _not_ Arrow business?”

“No, Laurel, it’s personal.”

“And did you say _New York?_ ”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” She was back to disapproving. “I didn’t realize that your relationship with those two extended to things outside of the Arrow world. Whatever it is,” she said with forbearance, “it must be very important for you to travel so far, especially when you’re trying to get your company and your fortune back. I trust they appreciate it.”

“I’m sure they do, just as I appreciate them.” Oliver looked at Digg and Felicity, both studiously watching each other, no doubt uncomfortable with the half of the conversation they were hearing. _Of course I appreciate them --they’re my family_ , he thought suddenly. My parents are gone…Tommy’s gone…and Thea is either absent or angry. Felicity and Digg – they’re the ones who give me the unconditional support your family is supposed to give you. He wondered whether they would say the same thing about him. At any rate, it was time to end the conversation with Laurel. “I’ll talk to you when I get back to Starling,” he said firmly. And without waiting for a response, he disconnected.

He turned back to Felicity to see her examining the photos on the computer monitor, carefully not looking at him. He was about to ask if she’d seen anyone she recognized, when he heard the door, followed shortly by the sound of female laughter.

“Oh hell,” Vincent suddenly looked worried. “We probably should have warned you,” he said to Oliver.

“Warned me?”

“About Tess. She’s…” Before he could finish, two women walked into the room. They must be Vincent’s NYPD friends -- Oliver’s eye was immediately drawn to their sidearms. The taller woman appeared to favor a SIG Sauer, while the shorter woman sported a Beretta Mini-Cougar. He noticed Digg’s eyes going to the same place and felt an urge to laugh. It was a sad commentary on both their lives, he thought, when two attractive women made an entrance and the first thing he and Digg noticed was their weaponry.

“We should have just gotten the donuts,” the shorter woman was saying.

“No Cat, we decided we wanted to do something healthier. Muffins were a better idea.”

“I’ll bet if you look up the calories and fat, there’s more in a muffin than in a donut.”

“I don’t believe that…and besides, you can put cream cheese on a muffin. That gives you some protein.”

“We should have asked Felicity what she prefers. She’s the guest…”

They both stopped abruptly when they saw Oliver and Diggle. Apparently the women weren’t expecting them this early, either.

“And… speaking of Felicity, it looks like her friends are already here,” the smaller woman said cheerfully, glancing toward Vincent for confirmation. She was quite beautiful, Oliver noticed, in a natural, unaffected sort of way. She certainly could rock a pair of jeans and a sweater.

The taller woman was attractive as well, although a bit more imposing. She glanced quickly between Diggle and himself, before fixing her stare fully on Oliver. There was a gleam in her eye that Oliver could only describe as appraising – he suddenly felt a bit like a prize steer on the auction block.

“Catherine, Tess,” Vincent said, “Meet John Diggle and Oliver Queen. Digg and Oliver – meet Detectives Catherine Chandler and Tess Vargas.”

Still standing next to Vincent, Catherine waved one hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you, Digg and Oliver.”

Digg responded for both of them, “Nice to meet you as well. Thank you for looking out for Felicity.”

Tess Vargas chose to walk over, her hand extended. “Mr. Diggle, Mr. Queen, it’s a pleasure. I have to say, Mr. Queen, your photos don’t exactly do you justice.” She shook his hand and eyed him up and down, not even bothering to hide her assessment of his physique. “Personal trainer?”

“Deserted island.”

Usually that was enough to disarm people, but Tess Vargas did not appear disarmed. She smiled and he had a feeling that the interrogation was about to begin.

“Holy crap!” Felicity’s voice broke in, making all them all turn to look toward the computer.

“Find something?” J.T. asked, moving quickly to her side.

“Look at this guy,” she pointed toward one of the photos. “I think that’s him, the younger, skinny guy.”

J.T. bent over and stared at the picture. “I think you’re right.”

They had their first lead.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's been a while. But this is the only thing I'm working on, so I hope to resume the pace. Thanks to all who continue to read.

J.T. slid into the chair next to Felicity as they both stared at the photo. Things had happened quickly on the street yesterday, but he was fairly certain this was one of the two men who had tried to abduct her. He recalled that the pair of kidnappers had been very different physically; one was thin and geeky and the other broader and very athletic. The photo was of the geeky man – not much more than a kid, really. The hotel security camera had captured a decent shot of him entering the lobby and his face was fully visible. He was tall and lanky, with pencil-thin arms and legs – a body type that could consume 5000 calories of junk food a day and still have trouble putting on weight. (J.T. couldn’t stand those people). He had a prominent nose, a shock of dark hair, large brown eyes, and a sullen expression. He looked like he couldn’t be much older than twenty.

“I think that’s him,” he said to Felicity. “I remember thinking that he barely seemed old enough to be out of college.”

She nodded. “I think it’s him, too. We’ll have to see if we can find a name to go along with this picture.”

J.T. swiveled in his chair to look at Catherine and Tess. “Can you run the photo through…” He stopped when Felicity put a hand on his arm.

“Just give me a moment,” she said.

Her fingers danced along the keyboard and the next thing he knew he was looking at a copy of the young man’s passport.

“How did you…?”

She shrugged. “Hacking skills, remember? It’s why you wanted to meet me at the conference.”

Both Catherine and Tess were frowning – or they would have been if their jaws hadn’t dropped. J.T. was pretty sure it would have taken them a couple of hours to come up with a name to match the photo. Felicity had done it in less than two minutes. There had to have been at least one law broken – the passport information resided in some U.S. government database – but he hoped that neither detective was going to make a big thing out of it. This was exactly the kind of skill he’d been hoping to acquire when he attended the hacking convention, the kind of skill that could keep Vincent out of hot water. Fortunately, his detective friends seemed too flabbergasted to say much of anything.

John Diggle and Oliver Queen, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit surprised – which was kind of surprising all on its own. Clearly they’d seen her do this before. He recalled Vincent saying that Diggle worked in private security, so it made sense that he would be aware of and occasionally make use of Felicity’s hacking skills. But why would Oliver Queen know of them? She said she’d been his executive assistant – which to J.T. implied summarizing reports, making PowerPoint presentations, and fetching coffee -- hardly a job that required illicit access to government databases. But then, of course, why would someone with Felicity’s technical skills work as an EA at all? And why on earth would her ex-boss fly 3000 miles to check up on her? Something didn’t add up.

“His name is Jeffrey Martin,” Felicity’s voice roused him from his thoughts. “Born 1990, MIT class of 2012.” She paused thoughtfully. “He must have been a freshman when I was a senior. We wouldn’t have had any classes together. I don’t remember ever seeing him.”

J.T. looked at the list of names on the conference roster they had printed out last night. “I don’t see a Jeffrey Martin here,” he said. “In fact, I don’t see anyone by the name of Martin.”

“He must have registered under a fake name.” She continued to type rapidly. “Oh,” she said after another minute, “Oh -- he’s the son of William Martin.” Her tone implied they should all understand what that meant; to J.T., however, it meant nothing.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one; John Diggle’s puzzled voice asked, “William Martin?” before J.T. had the chance. Like J.T., he turned to Felicity for an explanation.

It was Tess, however, who answered. “William Martin – the founder of Velograph. Billionaire, lives in a huge brownstone on the Upper East side. He keeps a low profile, but once or twice a year he makes the society news. In fact, he usually hosts a big charity bash to benefit the local hospitals right around this time.” She grinned at Catherine. “He’s a pretty attractive guy for someone in his early fifties. And I believe he’s a widower.” J.T. grimaced slightly. William Martin was wealthy and single – that explained how Tess knew of him. He supposed he should consider her fascination with the rich and famous another one of her endearing traits, but it did nothing to help his ego. After all, he was a barely-published biochem professor with a moderate income. He wondered if it was only a matter of time before she lost interest in him.

Felicity explained further. “William Martin is kind of a Bill Gates story,” she said to all of them. “He started designing computer graphics cards in his basement and built the business up to be a Fortune 100 company. His graphics capability made modern computer games possible – the cards were incredibly fast and half the size of everyone else’s. It was a real breakthrough.” She paused, searching her memory. “He sold Velograph a few years ago for a couple billion. Unlike your dad,” she glanced at Oliver, “he had never taken his company public, so most of the cash from the sale went straight to his bank account. Everyone expected him to use it to start a new business, but instead he just seemed to retire. It was kind of strange.”

Tess snorted, “Doesn’t seem strange to me. With a couple billion, I think he could afford to retire.”

“Maybe,” Felicity shrugged. “But he was a brilliant inventor in his mid-forties. People in the computing world were anxious to see what he would do next. When he still owned Velograph he had dabbled in quantum processors – folks thought that might be his next breakthrough. It seemed a shame when he stopped working without any kind of explanation.” There was regret in her voice. J.T. guessed that she was one of those people who had wanted to see what William Martin would do next.

Catherine interjected, “It was when his older son, William Jr., disappeared.”

Felicity turned to look at her. “You’re right,” she said slowly. “I had forgotten about that.”

Tess raised her eyebrows. “Cat, you surprise me. I didn’t think you ever followed the society news.”

Her partner shook her head. “I don’t, but I remember police cases. I’m surprised you don’t remember this one, too. Billy Martin was a senior in college, on spring break in Mexico. He disappeared from his hotel after a night drinking with his buddies and was never found. There were no signs of foul play and after a few months the police concluded that he’d wandered into the ocean and drowned. His father didn’t believe that and persuaded the FBI to get involved. When that went nowhere, he hired a bunch of private investigators. He was convinced there had been some kind of cover-up.” She paused, then added to Tess, “You and I were still in uniform at the time.”

While Cat talked, Felicity resumed typing. J.T. turned to see a new photo on the screen along with several news articles. William Martin Jr. was a better looking version of his younger brother – the same tall, skinny build but with more regular features and pleasanter expression. As Felicity’s fingers continued to fly, an FBI case file suddenly appeared on the monitor. He almost laughed. Felicity’s hacking was instant gratification – they talked about something and a few seconds later all the relevant information was there. He wondered if this was why Queen had kept her as his EA. It could come in handy when a CEO was preparing to meet with customers or competitors – to know everything about them. Those geeks at the convention hadn’t been exaggerating her skills, he thought. She really was remarkable.

He grinned at her. “Wow – Felicity. You’re definitely living up to your reputation.” He slid his chair closer to hers and gave her a congratulatory nudge on the shoulder, reaching over to squeeze her forearm gently. “Nice work.” She smiled modestly back at him, two dimples appearing. She had a nice smile.

And Oliver Queen’s eyes narrowed. He stared coldly at J.T.’s hand on Felicity’s forearm before saying sharply, “Reputation?” It was clear he wasn’t happy. J.T. thought about the two dozen phone calls he had made to her while she was unconscious and decided that this had to be more than an employer/employee relationship – no matter what Felicity had said. Queen’s look was intense, almost possessive. Diggle glanced briefly at his boss but said nothing, and didn’t seem at all surprised. Evidently he’d seen this dynamic before.

J.T. decided to ignore Queen’s baleful look. “Many of the attendees at the convention knew of Felicity,” he explained mildly. “They all told me she was one of the best hackers out there.” To test his theory he added, “She was so in demand it was hard to even get close to her to talk. She was always surrounded by guys.” He snuck at glance at Queen. The man continued looked irritated but not necessarily jealous. J.T. recalled Felicity’s joke about the wealthy liking people to be at their beck and call. Maybe that’s all this really was – Queen not wanting to share her skills with anyone. Still, he could have sworn there was something more in Oliver Queen’s eyes when he looked at his former EA. The man from Starling was certainly an enigma.

And John Diggle, ever the practical security man, asked, “Do we think Felicity’s reputation has anything to do with the attempted kidnapping? Someone wants her for her hacking skills?”

“It’s the assumption we’ve been working on,” Catherine replied. J.T. almost smiled at how quickly she slipped into cop-mode, and how she seemed to recognize in Diggle a fellow investigator. “We talked about other motives,” she glanced at Felicity, including her as part of the ‘ _we_ ,’ “but couldn’t come up with anything else. And given that Felicity has never met Jeffrey Martin, it still seems like a good theory.”

“But you’d think someone with Martin’s wealth and resources would have plenty of options,” Felicity sounded perplexed. “Why me? And how did he even know I was going to be at the conference? _I_ didn’t know until the night before. I actually had to hack the conference website to register – it was closed.”

Cat nodded, “All good questions,” she agreed, “to which we need better answers. So, how do we get them?” She turned toward her partner and then John Diggle, her eyebrows raised.

It was Oliver Queen, however, who answered. “We find Jeffrey Martin,” he said determinedly, “and we…” (J.T. noticed Felicity stiffen in her seat) “…ask him,” he finished more quietly.

Tess looked at him thoughtfully. “It might not be that easy. He’s probably holed up behind five layers of security in his father’s house by now. If we go there, they’ll just tell us he’s out of the country, or something similar. If he’s smart, he’ll lay low for a few days.”

“Maybe,” Cat agreed. “But if he’s desperate as well as smart, maybe he’ll go back to the convention to look for another hacker. He might think that we couldn’t identify him or that Felicity will be too scared to return. And if he couldn’t get the best,” she smiled kindly at Felicity, “maybe he’s going for the next best. It might be worth checking out.”

“Even if he’s not there,” Felicity added, “someone at the convention might know something more about him – help us figure _why_ he needs a hacker. There were a bunch of MIT grads there yesterday. I could hook up with them and ask – it’s kind of small club, they’ll talk to me.”

“You’re not going anywhere near that conference.” Queen’s response was instantaneous and sounded very much like an order. At that moment, it was easy to believe that he still _was_ her boss. J.T. had to hand it to him – he could be pretty damn intimidating when he chose. He wondered if that was the result of being a CEO or having survived five years on a deserted island.

Felicity, however, did not seem the list bit cowed. She got out of her chair and turned to face Queen, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. “There will be a couple of hundred people there, Oliver,” she said impatiently, “I don’t think anyone’s going to try to abduct me in front of an audience.” He opened his mouth to respond and she cut him off sharply, “I’d like to get to the bottom of this, and talking to folks at the conference seems like a good idea. Hacking is a community – there’s a good chance someone knows something.” She sounded every bit as determined as Queen, and she tapped her finger on his chest for emphasis. J.T. thought he heard Tess snicker.

John Diggle stepped in to break the stalemate. J.T. had the feeling that he did that fairly often. “She’s right, Oliver,” he said calmly. “It’s a low risk way to look for information. If we’re going to stop this once and for all, we need to find out why Felicity was a target. And she doesn’t have to go to the conference alone. I can go with her, keep an eye out.”

Queen stared at him for a long moment. “We’ll both go,” he said decidedly.

Felicity frowned, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Oliver. You’re not exactly low profile. Once word gets out that _the_ Oliver Queen is there, I might have trouble getting people to pay attention.”

Tess laughed. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. These are computer geeks, not Victoria’s Secret models. This guy here,” she tilted her head toward J.T., “had never heard of Oliver Queen.” She hesitated. “Still, I’m not sure it makes sense for the guy who _needs_ a bodyguard to pretend to _be_ a bodyguard. Mr. Diggle seems more than capable.” She glanced appreciatively at Diggle’s very large arms. “It would be better for him to have to guard one person rather than two.”

It was Queen’s turn to frown while Diggle looked amused. The dynamic between those two was almost as interesting as the one between Queen and Felicity. There were times when it was hard for J.T. to figure out who really was the boss.

“ _I_ should probably be the one to go.” Vincent’s voice caught them all by surprise. His best friend had been quiet for so long that J.T. had almost forgotten he was there. Cat and Tess both turned toward Vincent and nodded. It made sense for him to accompany Felicity, J.T. thought. If for some reason Jeffrey Martin’s Beast buddy showed up, the best thing would be to have another Beast on defense.

But of course Oliver Queen didn’t know that. He glanced speculatively at Vincent. “No offense,” he said briskly, “but you’re a doctor, not a bodyguard. What do you think _you_ can do if someone goes after Felicity?”

Vincent shrugged. “I’m a doctor who served in the army,” he said mildly. “Digg can vouch for me. My guess is that I’ll be at least as effective as a former CEO with no military experience.” Queen scowled and Diggle suppressed a chuckle – rather poorly, J.T. thought.

Before the discussion could escalate, Felicity chimed in. “It’s touching that you are all so anxious to defend me,” she said with an anxious smile, “but if I go in there surrounded by three tough-looking guys, it’s likely that no one will talk to me.” J.T. noted that she had said _three_ , not _four_. Apparently he didn’t count as a tough-looking guy. “Anyway,” she continued, “if that Mirakuru guy shows up again, it’s a moot point. I don’t think anyone can take _him_ on. We just have to assume he won’t go anywhere near a crowd and that I’ll be fine without an army.”

“Mirakuru?” Queen and Diggle asked at the same time, staring at Felicity in shock. Apparently they’d both been part of the inner circle who knew the truth about the rioters in Starling City. Interesting.

She looked back at them almost apologetically. “Did I forget to mention that part? One of the two guys who tried to abduct me was not exactly normal. He threw J.T. down the sidewalk last night as if he were a football. There were some differences from the guys in Starling, but it looked a lot like Mirakuru. You know -- incredible strength, really fast, bad temper…”

“How the hell did you get away?” Diggle asked.

She scrunched her brow. “I’m not sure, really. The drug was starting to kick in and things were pretty fuzzy. I think someone else showed up and scared him away. Whoever or whatever it was, I’m very grateful.” J.T. looked past her at Vincent. His friend smiled slightly. “So you can see,” she added to Queen and Diggle, “it’s more important than ever that we get to the bottom of this. If Mirakuru has made its way to New York, someone else must have the serum. He or she needs to be stopped, which means I need to go to that conference.”

Tess looked at Cat; she appeared no happier than Queen. For all her snark, J.T. knew she was a good cop who liked to do things by the book. Right now, Tess would want to argue that this was a matter for the police – that civilians should stay out of it – but she would also know that the strange nature of the case made that impossible. He glanced up at her, trying to convey his understanding and his sympathy in his eyes. She gave him a wry smile. She understood.

“Okay,” Cat said briskly, “I guess some of us are going to a hacking convention.”

Felicity, still standing in front of Queen, looked down at her bare legs emerging from the tee shirt she was wearing. “I hope you were able to get my clothes. Otherwise, this could be _really_ interesting.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Let me give you a hand with that.”

Catherine pointed to the suitcase she’d left in Felicity’s bedroom -- Vincent’s old bedroom, really -- after retrieving it from the hotel. When Felicity looked puzzled, the detective added, “You probably should be taking it easy on your back – not lifting anything for a while.” She was right; Felicity stretched forward tentatively and immediately grimaced when she felt a tug and burning sensation. She nodded and watched Catherine lift the bag onto the bed and unzip it. They both studied the contents.

“I’m thinking you’ll want to avoid wearing a bra until those stitches heal a little more,” she said gently. “Have you got an outfit in here that doesn’t need a bra?”

Felicity glanced down at her chest. She wasn’t exactly Katy Perry. “I’m not sure it matters too much,” she said dryly.

Catherine laughed and looked down at herself in a similar manner. “You and me both. Still, I know when I’m not feeling my best I want to wear something easy and comfortable. What have you got for the conference that doesn’t require too much fuss?”

Felicity took another look into the suitcase and sighed. She had brought her usual assortment of work dresses for the convention. All of them were somewhat form-fitting, ending above the knee and requiring heels – not really easy or comfortable. Her comfy clothes were on the other end of the spectrum – a little too casual, better suited to a day in the park than a day at a conference. She had jeans, leggings, a couple of long-sleeved tee shirts, and some low-heeled boots. She shook her head helplessly.

“I thought you might need something else,” Catherine continued with small smile, “so I stopped by my place and picked these up. We look pretty close to the same size and they’re loose, so they should work without a bra.” She laid out a couple of tunic-style tops on the bed. “You can wear one of them with the black jeans and you’ll look great.”

Felicity stared at the detective’s clothes and felt a prickle of tears in her eyes. Catherine had been the first person she’d seen when she’d awoken in this unknown place. Her immediate impression had been that the woman looked incredibly kind. Glancing at her now, she knew that impression was accurate. It had been a long time since Felicity had had a girlfriend; someone to share the female things in life like clothes and jewelry and cramps. Her technical skills always seemed to attract men – sadly, not very often in the romantic sense. And in her limited, recent opportunities for friendship, Sara had been too much the warrior (not to mention the fact that she was sleeping with Oliver) and Laurel too much the ice princess to ever really get close to. She hadn’t thought she’d missed having a girlfriend but being here now with Catherine, joking about bust size and borrowing clothes, she wondered. She would never regret her time with Oliver – they had done important things – but she was reminded of yet another aspect of life she had given up when she joined his crusade. She wasn’t sure how long she wanted to continue making those sacrifices, particularly if she had to keep watching him dive into relationships with other women.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Hmm?” she looked up to find Catherine watching her closely.

“I think you went somewhere else for a moment.”

Felicity shook her head gently. “Not really. I was just thinking how kind you’re being to a complete stranger. It’s been a while since I’ve had someone fuss over me – well, except for Digg, and he and I can’t really share clothes.” Trying to lighten the mood, she pointed toward the red top with black accents on the cuff and neck. “And you have better taste than he does. That’s very pretty. I’ll wear that with the jeans.” She smiled weakly at Catherine. “Thank you.”

Catherine smiled back. “I figured maybe you were thinking about your ex-boss, Mr. Queen.”

“Oliver? Why?” Felicity asked quickly. Too quickly, she thought -- she sounded defensive.

Catherine gave a small shrug. “He wasn’t exactly watching you the way a boss would watch an employee. He seemed a little…intense. When J.T. was congratulating you, I got the feeling he would have liked to have tossed J.T. right out of that chair and taken his place.”

Felicity laughed wryly. “Don’t read too much into it. Oliver’s been looking at me that way for almost two years and nothing’s ever come of it. He’s…complicated.”

Catherine sighed, “Aren’t they all? We should probably talk later.” In a more business-like tone, she added, “For now, if you don’t mind, I can help you get dressed. You don’t want to twist too much and tug on those stitches. Vincent says everything should heal nicely if you’re careful, and you won’t have any major scarring.”

Once again, Felicity was touched. There were a lot of things she wanted to say but she settled simply on, “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Catherine grinned. “Now, let’s get you dressed, we’ve got a mystery to solve.”

* * *

 

Oliver watched Felicity walk away to some unknown part of the house, Catherine Chandler following closely behind. He was surprised at how quickly these people seemed to have embraced Felicity. He was accustomed to thinking of her as quirky – certainly pretty and smart -- but always a bit on the outside, not quite fitting in. She could be awkward in social situations (his mother had unnerved her completely) and her mouth often ran away from her at the worst moments. There had been a mutual attraction with Barry Allen, but Barry was just a kid and every bit as quirky as Felicity. Oliver didn’t really think he counted. But these New Yorkers -- they were adults with normal jobs like cop, doctor and professor, and they were treating Felicity as if she were part of their inner circle. And she seemed equally as comfortable with them. Two years working with her and he had never once seen her in her pajamas. Two days in NYC and she was staying in their home, walking around in only a tee shirt. He’d even thought that J.T. Forbes was going to hug her when she performed her hacking magic. He was relieved when that didn’t happen.

“She’s in good hands, you don’t need to worry.”

“What?” he brought himself back to the present, to find Catherine’s partner, Tess, studying him.

“Felicity -- she’s in good hands. Catherine and I have been partners for a long time and she’s got the best heart of anyone I know.” Her soft tone surprised Oliver. Up to this point she had aligned perfectly with his notion of an abrasive New Yorker.

“I wasn’t worried,” he said abruptly.

She gave him a long look. “Right.”

A girlish giggle – a couple of them, in fact – could be heard from wherever Felicity and Catherine had disappeared to. The five of them -- Vincent, J.T., Digg, Tess and Oliver – all smiled; it was hard not to.

Digg voiced Oliver’s thoughts. “Sorry I missed the joke, whatever it was. I haven’t heard Felicity laugh like that in a long time.” Sadly, Oliver thought, that was true. She’d had a tough go of it recently – they all had. Digg turned to Vincent. “We can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for her.”

Vincent shrugged. “No problem. She’s a pretty amazing person.” He looked like he wanted to say more about Felicity, but after a quick glance at Oliver said instead, “I’m looking forward to hearing what you’ve been up to for the last ten years, Digg, but I suppose right now J.T. and I should also get dressed for the convention.” J.T. nodded in agreement.

Vincent and his friend left the room, leaving Digg and Oliver in the hands of Tess Vargas.

* * *

 

The hacking convention looked much the same on the second day as it had on the first. The vendor booths hawked firewalls and security software, all of which Felicity was fairly certain she could defeat in a couple of hours. The mostly male crowd mingled around the coffee stations, a few of the attendees surreptitiously stuffing bagels into their conference bags when they thought no one was looking. The morning opened with a short keynote followed by concurrent sessions on various cybersecurity topics. The big difference from yesterday was that while Felicity had done her best to avoid people then, she now made herself available. Fortunately, J.T. was sticking by her side. He might not have the fighting skills of Digg or Oliver, but his intelligence and sense of humor were making this whole thing easier.

And circulating somewhere among the small crowds, Oliver, Digg and Vincent were on the lookout. Since they were not registered to attend, Digg and Vincent had been turned away from the door and been forced to find a more creative way to get into the convention. Oliver, on the other hand, had smiled and offered a few words about Queen Consolidated’s technology programs -- and promptly been allowed to enter. Even when he was no longer CEO, the Queen charisma still seemed to work its magic. Felicity found it annoying. Catherine and Tess had had to go to work, but promised to head over later in the day.

There was no sign of Jeffrey Martin.

The five of them texted each other at least every hour (Felicity badly missed the convenience of the comms) but it appeared that he was not going to risk coming to the convention a second time. After spending the first couple of hours looking for him, she settled instead for approaching other attendees to see if any of them knew of Martin. Getting them to talk was surprisingly easy. Getting them to talk about Jeffrey Martin was another story. He didn’t seem to be widely known in hacking circles. She got a lot of shrugs and blank looks, followed by invitations to play _Pillars of Eternity_ when the conference ended for the day. (Despite her love of computers, Felicity had never been that much into video games. J.T., on the other hand, looked like he would have been tempted to accept.)

They got their first break in the afternoon when Felicity was about ready to give up. It had been a frustrating day. Even braless and in more comfortable clothes, her back was stinging and she desperately wanted to free her feet from her restrictive boots. She’d been ogled, hit on, and received a few job offers which only depressingly served to remind her of her unemployed status back in Starling. She and J.T. were fortifying themselves with large coffees when they were approached by two men. She guessed they were around her age, maybe a couple of years younger. Both were sporting shirts with the MIT logo.

She hoped she didn’t look too tired when she smiled. “Hi, I’m Fel…”

“We know who you are,” one of them said diffidently. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy -- average height with tousled sandy hair and blue eyes. Just as blue as Oliver’s, she thought. He grinned at her shyly. “We graduated MIT in 2012. We never had a class with you, but we heard some of the stories and Professor Ellsbury used to offer an automatic ‘A’ to anyone who could break your encryption algorithms. I hope you don’t mind, but we wanted to meet you in person.” His grin grew a little more confident. “That thing where you hacked StubHub? That was brilliant.” He paused and added in a lower voice, “Everyone’s trying to figure out who you work for now. Can you say which agency you’re with? NSA? CIA?” His buddy, a stocky red-head not much taller than Felicity, leaned in a little closer.

She frowned. “StubHub? CIA?” Where the _hell_ was this coming from? She looked at the two men and shook her head helplessly. “I’m not with any agency.”

Red-Head appeared puzzled for a moment, but then smirked in a friendly way. He seemed a little more self-assured than his friend. “Oh, yeah…I get it. You can neither confirm nor deny…” Whatever the rumor was, they’d clearly both made up their minds that it was true.

She turned toward J.T. and said wryly, “I don’t know who makes this stuff up. Next thing you know, you’ll hear I hacked Hillary’s email server.”

Stocky Red-Head looked disappointed. “You mean you didn’t?”

J.T. laughed, “I didn’t hear _that_ one. I did hear about StubHub.”

There was a pause and Sandy-Hair took the opportunity to gaze at her admiringly. Unlike some of the desperate leers she’d received earlier in the day, she didn’t find it offensive. Other than Barry, it had been a while since a nice, smart guy had regarded her as if she were an attractive woman. Of course, given that she’d mostly met homicidal Mirakuru soldiers lately, she hadn’t had too many chances. Between the two main men in her life, Digg treated her with love, but in a completely asexual way. And Oliver…well, who the hell knew what Oliver thought.

As if he couldn’t help himself, Sandy-Hair suddenly blurted out, “I have to say…you weren’t bad looking in school photos but now… _wow!_ You’re beautiful.” She felt a warm, pleasant glow. This was turning out to be a nice encounter, even if they learned nothing about Jeffrey Martin. But then Sandy-Hair _had_ to add, “It’s too bad you didn’t wear a dress again today. You really have a great pair.”

The warm glow disappeared. She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Pair of legs,” he amended quickly, turning bright pink. “a great pair of legs.” When she continued to stare at him he stammered on, “As for the other…pair…well, I wouldn’t know but I’ll bet they’re great too.” He turned even redder and gave J.T. a fearful look. “Oh God, I hope you’re not her boyfriend. Please excuse me, sometimes my mouth runs away from me, especially when I’m nervous. I really don’t mean to imply that I only wanted to meet Felicity for her…” He stopped abruptly. His buddy was grinning at him in amusement and J.T. looked ready to throw his coffee at him. Felicity wasn’t sure whether she should be annoyed or entertained; she could certainly empathize. She wondered if this was how Oliver and Digg felt when she went off on a verbal spree.

At any rate, as far as learning anything about Jeffrey Martin it appeared as though this conversation was going to be another dead end. Sandy-Hair looked like he was about to make a break for it and she couldn’t really blame him. She was all too familiar with that kind of embarrassment. She recalled a few times with Oliver’s mother when she wished Scotty had been available to beam her up.

Still…Sandy-Hair and Red-Head had said they were class of 2012. She decided it couldn’t hurt to try.

“No offense taken,” she said reassuringly to Sandy-Hair. “Believe me, I’m the last person to criticize anyone for problems with their brain-to-mouth filter.” As his flush faded from brilliant scarlet to a more subdued pink, she added, “Given that you graduated in 2012, I was wondering if either of you knew Jeff Martin? You might have had some classes together.”

Sandy-Hair’s flush disappeared altogether and he appeared surprised at the change in topic. He looked at Red-Head and frowned. There was some kind of meaning in that look, but she’d be damned if she could figure out what it was. Contempt maybe? “Yeah, we knew him,” Red-Head answered slowly for both of them. “Why are you asking?”

She glanced at J.T. When he nodded his encouragement she continued truthfully – well, as truthfully as she could. “Actually, I heard he was looking for me yesterday. We’ve never met so I was hoping to find out why. I thought he might be here today but I haven’t been able to find him.”

Red-Head snorted, “Consider yourself lucky that he missed you. Jeff wasn’t exactly Mr. Popular in college.”

“Why?” J.T. asked.

Red-Head shrugged. “He didn’t belong at MIT and everyone knew it. He didn’t have the brains -- he only got in because of his father.”

“William Martin?” Felicity prompted, even though she already knew.

“Right,” Red-Head confirmed, “the graphics card guy with a ton of money. I guess Jeff felt obligated to go into the sciences because his dad was such a techie, but he wasn’t cut out for it. He realized in the first semester that he couldn’t pass most of his classes, although he had a hard time admitting it to anyone else. He was always trying to weasel his way into study groups with some stupid excuse. When he couldn’t pull his weight with the homework, he’d try to buy everyone off by bringing pizza and beer, or offering them concert or sports tickets. ”

J.T. frowned. “That’s not good, but it doesn’t necessarily explain why he was unpopular. There’s plenty of kids with rich fathers who try to buy their way through college. A lot of them manage to do it and still have friends.” Felicity wondered if he was speaking from experience – he probably saw a lot as a college professor.

“Maybe,” Red-Head agreed, “but they’re usually good guys, or can at least throw good parties. Jeff was just plain weird. He was creepy.”

Felicity was about to ask in what way when Sandy-Hair explained, “I don’t think he ever really got over that thing with his older brother.” He sounded more tolerant than his friend. “It had been a couple of years since his disappearance, but Jeff acted as if he were still alive. He’d talk about plans for vacation with Bill, or pretend to have a conversation with him on the phone. If anyone suggested that he needed to get help to deal with his brother’s death, he’d blow up at them. After a while, people just gave him a wide berth.”

Felicity looked at J.T. He appeared as puzzled as she felt. Other than having a little more sympathy toward Martin for his loss, she was none-the-wiser about why he would want to kidnap her. Did he expect her to help him find Billy Martin with her hacking skills? And, if so, why not just ask? Why the attempted abduction?

A gentle chime pealed, the hotel’s signal for the start of the next group of conference sessions. Sandy-Hair and Red-Head both smiled at her.

“Well,” Sandy-Hair said, “it was very nice meeting you. Sorry for the comments about your…” he stopped and blushed.

“If I were you,” Red-Head continued, “I’d stay away from Jeff Martin. Whatever he wanted to find you for, it probably wasn’t good.”

_Well, that’s an understatement_ , Felicity thought. She smiled at the two men as they gave a final wave and moved off toward the meeting rooms. She wasn’t sure she and J.T. had learned much from this conversation other than it was unlikely that Jeff Martin was much of a hacker, and he was having trouble dealing with his brother’s death. Still, she supposed it was more than they’d known an hour ago. When they got back with Oliver and Digg, maybe they could put their heads together and figure out next steps. They’d resolved plenty of other cases that began with almost no information; hopefully, this was just one more.

She clung to that thought as they learned nothing else about Martin that afternoon. The five of them convened in the hotel lobby around 5:00 as the conference ended for the day. Felicity and J.T. were tired and hungry, and Oliver looked moody and distracted. Felicity wondered whether Laurel had called to remind him that he needed to focus on getting QC back – and if he regretted taking the time to come to NYC. Only Digg and Vincent seemed to have enjoyed their day. In between queries about Martin they had managed to catch each other up on the last ten years of their lives. Vincent kept staring at Diggle with a grin.

“Man – I can’t believe you’re going to be a father. If Lyla is the woman I’m thinking of, that kid is going to have two kick-ass parents.”

Digg smiled fondly, “No doubt about it.”

“Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?”

“Girl.”

“Any ideas for names?”

Digg shook his head, “Not yet, but we’ve got plenty of time.”

Vincent laughed, “That’s what everyone says…but that baby will be here before you know it. Your life is never going to be the same.” He looked as though he wanted to say more, but Catherine and Tess entered the hotel and made their way over. Felicity watched Vincent’s gaze settle fondly on Catherine – as if he’d just found something that had been missing all day. She wondered if anyone would ever look at her like that.

“Any luck?” Tess asked the group in general.

J.T. grimaced, “Not much. All Felicity and I were able to learn was that Jeff Martin was a poor student and not very popular at MIT. The other students thought he was weird.”

Tess frowned, “That’s it? After a whole day?”

J.T. said defensively, “We must have talked to at least thirty people. He doesn’t exactly move in hacking circles – most of them claimed not to know him.” He looked toward Felicity for confirmation and she nodded.

“Did anyone else learn anything?” Catherine asked.

They shook their heads. “I didn’t learn anything about Martin,” Oliver said. “I _did_ learn that Felicity has made a name for herself in the cybersecurity world – a number of people had heard of her. It was a surprise to me -- she never talks about it back home.” He looked at her curiously.

She gave him a small smile but said nothing. There were a lot of things he didn’t know about her. Now didn’t seem like a great time to begin explaining her life before Team Arrow.

Fortunately, J.T. changed the topic. “Felicity and I both agreed a few minutes ago that we’re starving. There’s a decent pizza place a few blocks from here. Why don’t we walk there and we can talk more over dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Vincent agreed.

Like the evening before, it was pleasant and mild outside. After a day indoors, Felicity enjoyed feeling the breeze on her face as she walked a few paces behind the others, content to watch Vincent still joking with Digg and J.T. and Tess having some kind of animated conversation. Like her, Oliver had separated himself a little from the others and lagged a few steps back, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

It never occurred to her that they would try again – not so soon and not so publicly. She heard the screech of tires and the next thing she knew there was a car beside her, the door opening and a man leaping out to grab her around the waist. It happened so quickly she didn’t even have time to yell. A few yards away she could see Vincent, Digg, Tess and Catherine spin around with shocked looks on their faces, too far away to do anything. She squirmed, but the man had an iron grip and she felt herself being pulled into the vehicle.

It didn’t happen.

Oliver’s roundhouse kick flew past her head and connected with perfect accuracy against the man’s jaw. When her abductor grunted but didn’t drop her, Oliver followed up with several swift punches, then yanked her out of the guy’s arms and just about threw her toward Diggle. He turned to face the man again, but by this time her would-be captor had slunk back into the car and was closing the door. The vehicle deftly weaved through the traffic and was soon a block away. Oliver looked like he wanted to give chase, but after a glance at their new friends, reluctantly decided against it. He walked over to join them.

“Well, Felicity,” Tess said briskly, “there’s never a dull moment with you around, is there?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For folks who commented that they were anxious to see Team Beast's (to use bushlaboo's words) reaction to Oliver's fighting skills, as well as the readers who wanted to see Oliver's response to Felicity's injuries -- you're getting both in one chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments. I read all of them and really think about them. For folks who said Oliver has seemed OOC or too much of a douche, I'll give you my thoughts (for what it's worth):  
> It's important to remember that this story starts after Season 2, when Oliver slept with Isabel and was with Sara for a decent chunk of the season. Did he care about Felicity and appreciate her skills? Absolutely. Did he see her as a legitimate, adult romantic prospect? I'm not so sure.
> 
> And I think he had some douche-like moments. After telling Felicity he couldn't be with someone he really cared about, he started a relationship with Sara, a woman he obviously cared about. He chewed Felicity out for spending time with Barry. His low point, for me, was the "you'll always be my girl" after the Clock King. It sounds nice, until you notice that he just about sprints out of the foundry to find Sara immediately after saying it. For me, that made it less sincere and almost a little manipulative. And, finally, who kept watch on Felicity's apartment? Diggle -- not Oliver.
> 
> Anyway...we're getting there. I particularly want to thank bushlaboo, AmandaG and Yunnan for their kind words. You guys keep me going.

It was a good thing they’d had plenty of practice managing bizarre crises, Vincent thought, because this marked two nights in a row where everything had gone to hell. Once again they found themselves at J.T.’s place, sans dinner, the room nearly crackling with adrenaline. J.T. was hovering anxiously over his new friend, Felicity, a position Oliver Queen looked like he very much wanted to occupy, and Tess and Catherine were off to one side debating whether the attempted kidnapping should be reported to the police. At least Diggle and Queen hadn’t been exposed to the Beast. Having to explain that would have been one thing too many. When things calmed down a little, Vincent decided he was going to suggest they call for take-out. This was the second consecutive night where the evening meal had been preempted by an abduction bid. They needed to think clearly, and everyone was going to function better if they got a little sustenance.

Not that their visitors appeared incredibly _frightened_. Queen looked more angry than disturbed, and Digg had his game face on – the same face Vincent had seen numerous times in Afghanistan. And Felicity – well, despite someone’s best efforts at pulling her into a car and driving away with her – she seemed surprisingly calm. A little shaken to be sure, but not exactly swooning with fear. She kept watching Digg and Queen carefully, as if trying to take her cue from them. It felt like those three were sharing some kind of silent communication, not unlike the communications he sometimes shared with Catherine and J.T. Whatever their relationship, it obviously went well beyond that of mere co-workers.

Vincent glanced over at Catherine and saw that she was eyeing Queen speculatively. He was pretty sure he could guess her thoughts. That kick and those punches were not the product of anger and an adrenaline surge. They had been calculated, almost surgical in their precision. Queen had been confident that he could throw his kick dangerously close to Felicity’s head and still miss her to connect with her assailant. They were the moves of a trained fighter, not a CEO, no matter what kind of physical shape he was in. And Digg hadn’t seemed the least bit surprised.

Vincent mulled over the news Digg had shared about himself earlier in the day. After his third tour in Afghanistan he’d returned to Starling City to join his brother, Andy, in private security. Andy had been killed, but Digg had stuck with the security gig. He’d gone to work for the Queen’s at the request of Oliver’s mother, shortly after Oliver’s miraculous return from the dead and an almost-successful attempt to kidnap him and his friend. In addition to being Oliver’s personal bodyguard, Digg eventually went on to manage security for Queen Consolidated when Oliver had taken over as CEO. And somewhere along the way, John Diggle had reconnected with his ex-wife, Lyla, and now the two of them were expecting. All of it sounded fine, except that Queen evidently didn’t _need_ a bodyguard and Digg had failed to mention how he came to feel so close to Felicity Smoak, or why he had respectfully referred to her as a “fellow soldier.” And now that Queen was no longer CEO, he had no need for a head of security – or an executive assistant for that matter. Digg and Felicity should be working elsewhere. Yet the three of them appeared joined at the hip.

He was fairly certain that Tess spoke for Catherine when she said, “Well, Mr. Queen, that was some show you put on in the street. Did you moonlight as an MMA fighter when you were CEO of Queen Consolidated, or is that just how you dealt with your CFO when you didn’t like the quarterly results?”

Queen shrugged. “Digg may have taught me a few moves,” he said mildly. “That,” he added, “and a lot of adrenaline.” He smiled at Tess, and for the first time Vincent understood what Catherine’s partner might have been referring to when she had talked about Queen’s panty-dropping charm. Not that Vincent was into guys, of course, but he could appreciate how a woman might fall prey to that soft voice, square jaw and blue eyes. The man had a disarming smile.

And, in fact, Tess looked like she was going to succumb. She smiled back at Queen, blinked her eyes, and involuntarily brought her hand up to touch her hair. She appeared a tad giddy. But in the end, Tess was made of sterner stuff. “That was more than a few moves, Mr. Queen,” she said sharply.

“Call me Oliver.”

“That was more than a few moves, _Oliver_. I don’t know a cop on the force who can deliver a kick like that. It usually takes years of training.”

Queen glanced at Diggle and then smiled once again at Tess, but said nothing. It appeared no further explanation was going to be forthcoming. Catherine looked at her partner as if to say, _this isn’t over – we’ll try again with Oliver Queen later_. There was a thoughtful silence.

Vincent’s eye was drawn back to Felicity. She was watching Queen closely but without surprise -- as if she’d seen him answer these kinds of questions before. He would have sworn she was amused until he saw her shift uneasily on her feet; that made him notice her posture. Something wasn’t right.

She was in pain.

It was subtle, but as a doctor he’d seen the signs often enough before – the stiffness of her shoulders, the careful way she moved her arms. She looked pale and there was a small crease in her normally smooth forehead. He recalled that she’d been grabbed pretty hard by the kidnapper and then flung equally as hard by Queen when he’d pulled her to safety. She must have been knocked about quite a bit. Vincent kicked himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Everything okay, Felicity?” Both Queen’s and Digg’s heads snapped in her direction when Vincent asked the question.

Felicity nodded carefully. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.” She gave a weak imitation of a smile.

Vincent wasn’t buying it. He walked over and, standing behind her, gently lifted the back of the loose shirt she was wearing. As he’d suspected, she’d torn a number of her stitches and there were a few trickles of blood oozing down her back. Now that he was close he could see that her posture was almost rigid. From his vantage point across the room, Queen could see none of this; nevertheless he looked at her with worried eyes before turning a hard stare on Vincent, still holding up Felicity’s shirt. Vincent chose to ignore Queen.

“Felicity,” Vincent said softly, “you’ve torn some of your stitches…well, _my_ stitches, really.” Trying to keep it light he added, “And I spent so much time on them. You’re going to need to be more careful.”

“Stitches?” Queen asked sharply. “Felicity - why did you need stitches?”

She looked up at Vincent almost helplessly. He could tell that, in that moment, she didn’t have the energy or inclination to give her former boss an explanation. He understood perfectly. Once she used the word “claws,” Queen and Diggle were going to be demanding more information. It wasn’t a good time. She needed to have her pain eased, and she needed to rest. Crazy stories could come later.

“Felicity required a few stitches after the first kidnapping attempt,” he said to Queen shortly. “It looks like she’s torn some of them. Let me fix her up and then we can talk more about how it happened.” And without waiting for agreement, he very gently clasped Felicity’s forearm and led her away toward the bedrooms. Queen made no protest.

When they were out of sight of the others he said to her, “You probably don’t remember the drill because you were unconscious last night, but I need you to lie face down on the bed with your shirt off. Here,” he added, grabbing a large towel from J.T.’s closet. “You can lie on this. I’m going to clean up and fetch my medical bag.”

Felicity gave him a weak smile and nodded.

* * *

  
As soon as Vincent left J.T.’s bedroom, Felicity arranged the towel on the bed. Then – gingerly – she pulled Catherine’s shirt over her head, wincing as she felt a few sharp stings, and carefully lowered herself to lay face down as requested. She probably should mention to Vincent that Cat’s shirt might be saved if they soaked it immediately in cold water. She’d had some practice removing blood stains over the last couple of years and the trick was to take care of it quickly.

She turned her head away from the door and closed her eyes. The pain was persistent but bearable – the cool air was lessening the burn and it felt good to be free of the shirt. She hoped Vincent didn’t hurry gathering his medical gear. After a day of talking to strangers at the convention it was nice to have a few minutes to herself, to lie quietly and not have to look interested when some annoying guy was spouting utter crap or to worry that the next person she ran into was going to try to grab her. She did her best to loosen her tense muscles and tried to stop the thoughts from swirling around in her brain.

There was a sharp intake of breath. She carefully turned her head to find Oliver staring at her from the doorway, his eyes taking in the criss-cross of slashes on her back. She said nothing, just watched his expression transition from shock to anger to…something else…she wasn’t quite sure what. It was an unusually intimate moment for them. The closest Oliver had ever come to seeing her unclothed was when the Clock King had shot her. Back then, he and Digg had turned their backs discreetly while Sara had sewn up the wound, despite the fact that she’d been wearing a very utilitarian, unsexy bra and had draped Oliver’s shirt over most of her torso. Her head had been spinning on oxycodone at the time, but she remembered thinking it funny that two grown men had been uncomfortable seeing her in a brassiere – as if they were afraid to think of her as a grown woman. Oliver had never been shy about exposing his own body, of course. He often ran around the foundry half-dressed and she’d had her hands on him multiple times to treat wounds on his back, chest and thigh, trying not to think about what it would be like to have her hands on those places under different circumstances. But when it came to Felicity, other than his favorite shoulder-touches, Oliver had maintained a respectful physical distance. Seeing her topless -- even lying face down with the interesting parts hidden – well, this was uncharted territory.

She figured she was going to receive a lecture – about being careful, about not putting herself in danger – but later, not now. Now, Oliver was going to head back to Digg in the other room because being around a half-naked Felicity was just a little too personal for his comfort. She looked at him, still standing in the doorframe, and waited.

To her surprise, he didn’t leave. After a long moment, he walked into the room and slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, next to her. His eyes never left her back.

“Oh, Felicity.” His voice was heavy, and she realized now what that other expression on his face had been. It had been guilt. He was going to find a way to make this his fault.

She closed her eyes and said tiredly, “Oliver…don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t blame yourself for this. It had nothing to do with you.”

“You said the guy who attacked you was a Mirakuru soldier.”

“I said he had strength _like_ a Mirakuru soldier. I don’t know that he _was_ one. I’m pretty sure J.T. thinks it was something else, although he hasn’t told me exactly what.”

“Still…”

She interrupted him. “Oliver, even if it _was_ a Mirakuru guy, you’re not responsible for all the Mirakuru in the world. You didn’t create it and you tried to destroy it. If you hadn’t been on the island it could have been a whole lot worse. Ivo could be mass-producing the stuff and selling it to the highest bidder.”

He didn’t respond, but she doubted that she’d convinced him. She was torn between wanting to ease his guilt and wanting to puncture an ego that believed anything that happened to Felicity Smoak was the result of her association with Oliver Queen. She went with the latter. “Oliver -- there’s nothing in New York that ties me back to you or The Arrow. Whoever is trying to take me wants me for _me_ – for what I can do or for something I have done. As much as you want to take on the whole world, you didn’t cause this. Not everything is about you.”

Oliver exhaled. As he so often did when the conversation wasn’t going his way, he changed the subject. His fingers went to the back of her neck and lightly clasped the fine gold chain she was wearing. She shivered a little at his touch and hoped he didn’t notice.

“I wish you wouldn’t wear this, Felicity.”

“I like it.”

The chain and its pendant had been a gift from Nyssa al Ghul after Slade Wilson had been captured and his army defeated. Sara had told Nyssa how Felicity had managed to weaken Slade by allowing herself to be taken so that she could inject him with the Mirakuru cure. Before she’d left for Nanda Parbat, Nyssa had presented Felicity with the necklace, saying, “The mark of a true warrior is not in his strength or skill with the sword, but in his willingness to go into battle when the outcome is uncertain. You, Felicity Smoak, MIT class of ’09, are a warrior.” The pendant contained the small likeness of a lion – well, a lioness, really. Despite her misgivings about Nyssa, Felicity had been touched. She had donned the necklace and seldom taken it off. On days when she doubted herself – and there had been a few of them – she would look at the lioness and feel better.

Oliver didn’t care for the necklace. He worried that the pendant would somehow tie her to the League of Assassins and stared pointedly at it any time he noticed her wearing it. For some contrary reason, that only made her want to wear it more.

“Unless your hands are sterile, you should be staying away from those cuts.” Vincent sounded very much like a doctor as he strode into the room. His tone left no opportunity for discussion.

Oliver stood up quickly and moved away from the bed to let Vincent take his place by Felicity’s side. The doctor perched carefully on the mattress as he donned a pair of surgical gloves, then gently examined the areas that were bleeding. He looked up at Oliver. “Maybe you can ask Digg to come in to assist. It helps to have a second pair of hands and he and I worked together in Afghanistan.”

“I can do it.” Oliver’s response was instantaneous.

Vincent frowned. “It might be better to ask Digg. He has some medical trai--”

“I can do it.”

Vincent studied Oliver. After a moment he said, “Fine. Go wash up in the bathroom and when you come back, put a pair of these on. He waved a blue surgical glove at Oliver. As Oliver left the room Vincent leaned over and said to Felicity, “I’m going to use a topical and then maybe a little Novocain. You’ll feel a burning sensation for a minute, but then things should go numb.”

“Okay.” She tried not to wince as he dabbed a liquid-soaked cotton ball on various locations on her back, and tried even harder not to look at the large syringe he pulled out of his bag. Despite two years with The Arrow, her tolerance for sharp, pointy things hadn’t really improved. Oliver returned just as Vincent began injecting the Novocain.

“What’s that?” Oliver asked sharply.

“Just Novocain,” Vincent replied. When Oliver looked at him inquiringly, he added, “I know Felicity’s tough, but I can do a better job if she doesn’t feel the stitches and is able to keep perfectly still. I’m aiming for zero scars, unlike that hack job someone did on her shoulder.” Felicity felt his gloved finger tap lightly on the scar Sara had left her. “Whoever sutured there - it looks like they used a sewing needle. What happened, anyway?”

Felicity didn’t respond, curious to hear the excuse Oliver would come up with. She nearly rolled off the bed when he said matter-of-factly, “Bullet wound.”

Vincent’s hands stilled. “You’re joking, right?”

Oliver shook his head. “I’m not. Felicity was helping the city catch a hacker who was embezzling funds. There was a confrontation and…she got shot.”

“O…kay.” Vincent sounded like he didn’t know how to react to that one. Clearly he didn’t consider taking a bullet to be part of an executive assistant’s standard job responsibilities. He must have decided that now was not the time to probe, however, because he merely asked, “And you don’t have doctors who know how to suture in Starling? A first-year intern could have done a better job.”

This time, Oliver _did_ opt to evade the question, saying only, “Well, I’m glad she has a doctor now who won’t leave her such an obvious scar.”

Vincent stared at him a moment. “Right. Well…let’s get started.” And, out of the corner of her eye, Felicity saw him lower the curved needle toward her back and held her breath.

And God bless Novocain. She wondered why they had never bothered to stock it in the foundry. She felt a few gentle tugs and the pressure of Vincent’s fingers, but nothing else. Maybe Oliver and Digg were too macho to think they needed it, but she decided that it was going to be part of the foundry medicine cabinet going forward.

For the next half hour, the only sounds were of sutures being snipped and Vincent occasionally directing Oliver to clean blood away so that he could examine a particular area. The silence felt companionable, not awkward, and Felicity closed her eyes as the men continued to work. It would have been a logical time for Oliver to ask how the slashes got there but he held his questions, allowing Vincent to focus on his sutures. Given how hazy her memory was of the night before, Felicity was interested in hearing an explanation herself – assuming it wasn’t too gruesome. But then Vincent really wasn’t the person to ask. It had been J.T. who had said something about her attacker having claws. Vincent hadn’t even been there. Tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep, she was going to have a talk with J.T.

“There,” Vincent’s voice was kind. “I think we’re all set. Felicity, let’s try to keep these stitches in place this time.”

She smiled, but didn’t open her eyes, “I’ll do my best, doctor. It will help a lot if no one tries to grab me again.”

She heard a chuckle and felt a hand briefly stroke the back of her head. She was surprised that Vincent would make such a gesture and opened her eyes, only to see him headed toward the doorway and Oliver seated next to her on the bed. He smiled briefly at her, but said nothing.

“It looks like it’s time for another one of J.T.’s tee shirts,” Vincent said from the doorway. “I’ll see what I can find.”

* * *

 

John Diggle was reconsidering his opinion of Vincent’s girlfriend, Catherine Chandler.

Vincent had told him a little about her as they updated each other on their lives during the fruitless search for Jeffrey Martin at the convention. Any mention of Detective Chandler seemed to bring a smile to his army buddy’s face; however, the man had been a little _sketchy_ on the details. Vincent had only said that he’d met Catherine a couple of years ago, during a dark time in his life. He’d been back in NYC for a while, but had let no one other than his best friend, J.T., know that he was even alive. It wasn’t clear to Digg why Vincent had wanted to stay hidden, but apparently he hadn’t felt ready to face the world. Vincent had encountered Catherine when she was working a case and it had been her, he said, who coaxed him back into having a life and resuming his career as a doctor. They had been together ever since.

Diggle definitely appreciated what Detective Chandler had done for Felicity. Hearing the two of them laugh that morning had been music to his ears. It had been weeks since Slade Wilson had taken her, and Felicity still wasn’t herself. There was something preying on her – something that happened with Oliver, he was certain. He’d tried numerous times to get her to talk, but she just kept telling him that everything was fine. For a while he thought it might have been Laurel. Oliver had been spending a lot of time with her, and Diggle hoped to God that Felicity wasn’t going to have to watch her ex-boss fall for another woman the same way she’d been forced to watch his relationship with Sara unfold. But, at some point, Digg decided Laurel wasn’t the issue. This was about Oliver -- and Oliver alone. He’d known for more than a year that Felicity loved the man – really loved him, not just held some girlish crush – and there had been a few moments when he thought that Oliver might actually return that love. But for the most part, Oliver’s feelings had remained nebulous, and Digg didn’t think Felicity could carry on forever in the present situation. If Catherine Chandler was able to get her to talk, that would be a very healthy thing.

In some ways, Catherine reminded him of Felicity. Both women had a kind of purity about them – as though their spirits couldn’t be tarnished, no matter what darkness or evil they were exposed to. Neither was naïve, however. They were intelligent and optimistic, and he suspected Catherine might share Felicity’s stubborn streak. But there were differences as well. Felicity was youth and exuberance – or at least she was when she was herself. Catherine – despite her lack of years – was an old soul. There was an inner tranquility to her, a certainty that Felicity lacked. Diggle thought that hanging around Catherine Chandler would be good for Felicity.

Or he did until he realized that the woman could be a real hard-ass, at least when she was in cop-mode.

When Oliver followed Vincent to check on Felicity, Diggle had been left alone with J.T. and the two detectives. He hadn’t been surprised when Tess Vargas began to question him about Oliver’s fighting skills. She hadn’t been at all satisfied with Oliver’s answers (or lack of them) earlier, and she seemed determined to get more information now. Her interrogation style was exactly what he would have expected from a New York City cop – aggressive and direct. He was confident he could handle it. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was for her petite and angelic-looking partner to join in the grilling.

In a disarmingly beautiful rendition of Bad Cop/Bad Cop, the women fired questions at him in rapid succession, trying to trick him into revealing a few secrets about Oliver. If he’d ever doubted that Tess and Cat were good cops, those doubts were erased now because they were clearly skilled and seasoned. Diggle had had fairly extensive covert ops training, but this scenario was not one for which he was prepared; getting tag-teamed by two stunning women was more in Oliver’s wheelhouse, he thought. It was fortunate that he was able to recall at least _some_ of his lessons on interrogation techniques, otherwise the story of The Arrow would have been exposed within the first ten minutes. To his annoyance, J.T. Forbes did nothing to intervene. In fact, the man settled himself in the chair in front of the computer with a grin (Digg was already thinking of it as Felicity’s chair), clearly enjoying his visitor’s discomfort.

_“When did you say you met Oliver Queen?”_

_“How long had he been back in Starling City before he hired you?”_

_“When did you start training him?”_

_“Did he have any kind of martial arts skills when you met him?”_

_“He was alone on an island for five years, how could he have taught himself hand-to-hand combat?”_

_“What exactly is his relationship with Felicity Smoak?”_

“Huh?” That last question caught him by surprise. He stopped avoiding the detectives’ eyes and stared at Catherine Chandler. Her partner did the same.

“I asked,” she repeated calmly, “about his relationship with Felicity Smoak.”

Tess Vargas frowned. “Cat, I don’t see what that has to do with --”

“Oh come on, Tess, you see the way he looks at her. It’s certainly not the way a boss looks at his employee. Whatever secrets he’s keeping, I’m pretty sure she’s aware of them. In fact, the only other boss I ever saw stare at an employee like that was Captain Bishop -- when he was looking at _you_ in the station.”

“Cat, that doesn’t count. You know Joe and I were having an aff--,” Tess stopped and then said, “Oh.” She glanced nervously at J.T. Digg was happy to see the smirk disappear from the man’s face instantly.

“You had an affair with your precinct captain?” J.T. asked her.

Tess rubbed her forehead. “It started before I met you, J.T., and it’s been over for a long time now.”

“Still,” J.T. said slowly, “you’ve always been so by-the-book. I’ve seen you bust on Cat a few times for bending the rules. And you had an affair with your captain? That’s gotta be breaking one of the biggest rules there is.” Diggle couldn’t tell whether J.T.’s voice contained awe or worry. All he knew was that he was happy to have the questions directed at someone else. After a moment, J.T. added – more to Cat than to Tess. “What was he like? Was he good-looking?”

Catherine looked at her partner for a moment and then turned to J.T. “I think it’s something for you and Tess to talk about at another time. We were asking Mr. Diggle here about his boss.”

Damn. The woman was back on point. He was right – she had a stubborn streak.

As the two detectives turned toward him expectantly, Diggle decided to go with honesty on this one. “If you’re asking me about Oliver’s relationship with Felicity, you’re going to have to ask him yourselves. I’ve been working with both of them for more than two years and I haven’t been able to figure it out. I can tell you,” he added, “that they’re not in a romantic relationship.”

Catherine sighed, “Yeah, that’s what she said, too. I thought she might have been keeping it a secret.”

“Keeping what a secret?” Oliver asked as he and Vincent returned to the main room. The two men looked more at ease with each other, Diggle thought. Taking care of Felicity had given them a common purpose.

Cat looked at Oliver carefully and Diggle held his breath. Despite her interrogation skills, however, even she didn’t have the chutzpah to ask Oliver about his intentions toward Felicity. All she said was, “It’s a woman thing…not important right now. How’s Felicity?”

“She’s fine,” Vincent said. “Just getting dressed – she’ll be out in a second.”

“Great,” J.T. said enthusiastically. After a second he added, “So what are we doing about dinner? I’m starving.”

* * *

  
Vincent stripped down to his underwear and slid into bed next to Catherine. Her apartment felt especially quiet after spending twenty-four continuous hours with relative strangers.

“Thank God Queen insisted on keeping an eye on Felicity all night,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t think my back would appreciate another evening sleeping on J.T.’s couch.”

Catherine smiled at him brightly – a smile that always made her look like she was sixteen years old. He loved the fact that it seemed reserved only for him, and he began thinking of ways he might make her smile in a more _adult_ fashion. He would start with removing her night shirt, he decided.

She turned on her side to face him, the shirt sliding enticingly off one shoulder. “What did you think of Oliver Queen?”

Vincent frowned, unhappy with the turn in the conversation. Talking about a young, complicated and attractive man who wasn’t him was not what he wanted to be doing at this moment. Still, he knew better than to say so to Catherine. “I think whatever happened to Queen on that island left him with a few issues,” he said shortly.

“You think?” Catherine asked dryly. “The man has nearly as many secrets as you. And whatever they are, I’m certain both John Diggle and Felicity Smoak are in on at least some of them. They definitely weren’t surprised when he took down the kidnapper. Tess and I tried to get Digg to talk, but he didn’t spill anything.” After a moment, she added, “Did Oliver say anything to you? The two of you were together for almost an hour.”

Vincent sighed. Catherine just couldn’t leave a mystery alone. It was one of her endearing traits and probably why she was a good cop, but it could be inconvenient at times. “We really didn’t talk much,” he said. “Queen was clearly upset over Felicity’s condition and we focused on getting her stitched up. I agree that there’s a lot more going on there, though. I asked about an old scar on her shoulder and he told me she’d been shot going after an embezzler. Did she say anything about that to you?”

Catherine rolled onto her back. “No. I saw the scar when I was helping her get dressed but it never occurred to me that it might be from a bullet. It doesn’t exactly gibe with her job descriptions – either in IT or as an executive assistant. What explanation did Oliver give?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Why on earth not?”

“He was worried and he’s in love with her. It didn’t seem like a good time for an interrogation.”  
  
“What?” Catherine sat upright in bed.

“I said, it didn’t seem like a good time for an interrogation. I figured tomorrow, when everyone’s had a good night’s sleep..”

“No – not that. The _in love_ part. You think he loves her?”

Vincent snorted, “Yeah...don’t you? You usually spot this stuff a mile away.”

Catherine lay back down. “He’s _something_ about her, but I’m not sure it’s love. Protective, maybe. They’re certainly close.”

“Oh please. The man flew cross-country to be with her and he’s keeping watch over her tonight. He held his breath every time I put a suture in her. You’d think I was stitching _him_ up.”

“Still…”

“Look, he may not know it himself, but he loves her. Trust me, as a man who spent months trying to deny his feelings for you, I know the symptoms.”

She smiled at him once more. “Well, look at you – the romantic advice expert. Maybe you can give J.T. and Tess a little guidance.”

He gazed at her dark hair tumbled on the pillow and her gorgeous green eyes. “Maybe. But right now, I have other romantic ideas that I want to explore.”

He lifted her night shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to take so long. I am traveling for work and trying to write in hotel rooms and airports -- and finding I'm just not very good at it. Thanks for your patience and the continued interest.

Felicity awoke with a jolt, startled by dreams of snarling men with yellow eyes and claws reaching for her from passing cars. She guessed it must be a little before dawn; the bedroom was not pitch dark but not exactly light either. She never used to be a morning person (that 8:00 C++ class at MIT had been a killer) but over the last couple of years her body clock had been thrown out of whack by their Arrow missions and waking before sunrise was no longer rare. She stretched tentatively, not wanting to tug open any of Vincent's second round of stitches. He was terrific with the needle, not to mention kind and gentle, but she didn't want to go for round 3 if she could help it. She was pleased to find that her back felt better than it had the day before and, despite the crappy dreams, she'd had a decent amount of sleep. She considered briefly trying to snooze off again, but she was itching to find footage of yesterday's kidnapping attempt to see if she could identify the man, or at a minimum, the car. She slid slowly toward the side of the bed. And then she stopped.

Oliver was there, slumped over in a chair with his arms folded on the bed and his head resting on his forearms. He was sound asleep. She remembered him telling Vincent sometime after pizza last night that he and Digg would stay at J.T.'s as a precaution. She had felt a flicker of warmth when he'd spoken because he had sounded a little like the old, protective Oliver from the pre- _I love you_ era. Still, she hadn't thought it had meant he would stay with her in the bedroom. He certainly hadn't been there when she'd fallen asleep.

Felicity couldn't help but stare. Despite their two years working together, seeing Oliver in a peaceful state that wasn't unconscious was not something she'd had the chance to do very often. She knew he slept in the foundry now, but she'd never actually caught him at it beyond an occasional catnap and she always felt like he did _that_ with his usual restless energy. In contrast, his body at this moment looked entirely relaxed, his breathing slow and regular - almost like a child's. It dawned on her that between evenings studying QC contracts with Laurel and his recent overnight flight to NYC, he'd probably had almost no sleep over the last few days. That he was out so soundly now, sitting in a chair, was indicative of how tired he must be. She did not want to wake him.

As quietly as she could, she inched her way toward the side of the bed opposite Oliver. The mattress made a few creaks, but thankfully he didn't stir. Encouraged, she silently climbed out and tiptoed toward the door in her bare feet. She was wearing another one of J.T.'s tee shirts, the fabric loose and comfortable against her back, and she decided she didn't need to get dressed. The noise might wake Oliver and – hell - they'd all seen her like this yesterday anyway. She was just passing through the doorway, congratulating herself on letting him sleep when…

"Felicity?"

His voice was groggy. She turned toward him as he slowly sat up, his eyes half open. She couldn't help but think how unfair it was. Most people looked like crap when they first got up, but Oliver Queen looked like…well, Oliver Queen. His tee shirt was a little rumpled, but his hair was in place and a few extra hours away from a razor hadn't hurt him in the least. Even the sleepy eyes thing worked for him; she was once again aware of the depth of those blue irises and the length of his lashes. She doubted she presented such an enticing picture. She was quite certain her hair looked like she'd just stepped out of a wind tunnel.

"Oliver, it's early. Why don't you stretch out on the bed and go back to sleep? You must be beat."

He didn't acknowledge her suggestion. "Where are you going?"

"To see if I can find footage from yesterday. It happened right outside the hotel, so I'm thinking their security cameras might have caught something."

"Good idea." He stood up out of the chair.

"Oliver, you don't have to come with me. I'll just be in the other room and I'll come get you if I find anything. You really should catch up on your sleep."

"No, I'm awake now. I'll check the footage with you. I got a better look at the guy than you did so I can help you figure out if you find a match." He stretched, and she did her best not to notice how his biceps flexed with the motion. It did her no good to focus on things she couldn't have.

"Okay, Oliver. We should probably be quiet, though. I'm pretty sure everyone else is still asleep."

He nodded and followed her silently out of the bedroom.

* * *

 

Oliver glanced down at Felicity's bright blonde head as they huddled over the footage she had pulled up on the computer. It wasn't 6:00 yet and, as Felicity had predicted, the other occupants in J.T.'s place were sleeping soundly. Tess and J.T. were behind closed doors in his bed, but Digg was awkwardly perched on the sofa across the room. Oliver hoped Digg's military training had given him the ability to sleep anywhere. The night before he had been forced to catch his forty winks in an economy airline seat and now he was stuck on a sofa clearly not meant to accommodate a six-foot-three man. His face looked peaceful though, and Oliver thought he might be dreaming of his bed with Lyla in it. He certainly deserved good dreams. Sitting side by side, Oliver and Felicity spoke in whispers, doing their best not to wake him.

As usual, it didn't take her long to find the video from the hotel security cameras. Even half-awake, her fingers tapped a rapid rhythm on the keyboard and they were soon looking at a view of the street from the lobby. The camera didn't cover all the lanes of traffic, but it had caught the car as it pulled up to the curb. Unfortunately, the man had done a pretty good job of keeping his face turned away from the hotel's surveillance – deliberately, Oliver guessed. Felicity tried zooming in as well as looking for reflections in other cars, but the best they were able to do was verify that he was Caucasian, with dark eyes and dark hair – all of which Oliver already knew from getting close enough to punch him. They agreed it couldn't be Jeffrey Martin – he was too robustly built – but that was about it. Age was indeterminate; although Oliver's recollection was that the fellow was on the young side.

"Any ideas?" he murmured softly to Felicity.

She sighed. "I wrote code back home that can enhance photo images, but it would take me a long time to recreate that code here."

"You can't just access it over the internet?"

The moment he suggested it he knew he'd made a mistake. She turned and gave him the look that she often gave him when he made recommendations about her tech; the look that said _I don't tell you how to sharpen your arrows_. It was odd, but for some peculiar reason this morning he liked seeing that expression on her face. Bickering over the computer search felt natural - like the old days, before the _Slade Wilson/I love you_ thing, when they could tease each other and not worry about hitting sensitive spots. It reminded him of when it had just been the three of them – before Roy, Sara and now Laurel - when they had been a cohesive unit, with no awkwardness. He hadn't realized how much he had missed those days.

"Oliver, what on earth are you smiling at?" She looked perplexed.

There was no way he was going to explain. Reminding her of the awkwardness would only serve to bring it back. So instead he said, "Nothing, really. Just forgot my place there, for a moment. Sorry."

She grinned at him, a little shyly. "You're forgiven - just don't do it again. Now, what I was about to tell you is that I might not be able to enhance _his_ picture, but I was able to grab a partial on the license plate on the car – the last four digits. Given the make and model, we should be able to trace it."

"Now?"

"Yes, Oliver, now."

"Good."

He watched her fingers dance once more, and various windows popped up on the monitor scrolling through gibberish he knew was code. Every now and then her arm would brush his as she typed and the sensation was surprisingly pleasant, not a caress but not an accident either. He almost began to hope that she didn't ID the car too quickly because he was enjoying sitting here with her, feeling once again like they were partners. Her bare thighs peeped out from under her tee shirt and the thought of resting his hand on one of them flitted briefly though his mind. He squelched the idea, however, when he concluded that it might startle her and ruin the mood. As it was, a document appeared on the screen all too soon, with _New York Department of Motor Vehicles_ at the top. She frowned as she studied it. "It's registered to a lease company, not an individual," she said flatly.

"So it's another dead end?"

She shook her head. "The lease company should have records of who is using the car. It just means one more search. Really, Oliver, I sometimes wonder how you were able to find any of the bad guys before I signed on." She typed a bit more and he found himself staring at another document. He leaned in toward the screen, squinting to make out the tiny font. 

"It looks like the car was leased to Velograph?"

She nodded. "William Martin's company – well, his company before he sold it." She sat back abruptly in her chair, taking her hands off the keyboard to twist them nervously in her lap. Her efficient calm of a few moments ago was replaced by evident frustration. "It seems like everything just keeps pointing back toward the Martin family," she said in exasperation. "Why? What on earth could they want with _me_?" There was a tiny tremor in her voice.

Oliver turned toward her. He was as bothered by their inability to make sense of this as she was, but he didn't think it would help to show it. He tried to sound logical and soothing. "Felicity, you're _sure_ you never had anything to do with them? Other than the MIT association there's nothing?" He reached out and took one of the hands she was wringing, as if the connection might draw the information out of her, might help her to remember.

She shook her head. "No, Oliver, I'm sorry, but I don't recall ever meeting Jeff Martin." Her hand stilled in his, but she made no effort to withdraw it.

"What about his older brother, or the father?"

"I would have remembered if I'd met the founder of Velograph. You know me and computers – William Martin is one of my heroes. And as for Billy Martin – I don't think so. Even if I had, would it matter? He's dead." She sounded confused and disappointed with herself.

He squeezed her hand encouragingly. "We'll figure it out, Felicity. We always do." After a moment, she gave him a hint of a smile and glanced hopefully up at him. He'd certainly had missed _that_ look. After weeks of studiously avoiding eye contact, it felt good that she seemed willing to lean on him once more – comfortable and right. He thought about saying so, but then decided it was better to let the two of them just sit here quietly. Her hand was warm and soft in his and he was happy to just keep holding it.

There was the sound of a throat clearing behind them. Oliver quickly dropped Felicity's hand and they both turned to look over their shoulders. Diggle stood there, looking very much awake and vaguely amused. For a big man, Oliver thought, he sure as hell could move quietly.

"How long have you been there?" he asked, more sharply than he'd intended. He glanced regretfully at the hand that Felicity had returned to her lap. He was pretty sure that something had just happened, even if he didn't know exactly what it was.

Diggle ignored the lack of friendliness and replied mildly, "Enough to know that we're back to talking about the Martins. It seems like all roads keep leading to Jeff Martin."

Felicity sighed. "They do, don't they. And I still don't have a clue why."

Digg shrugged his shoulders. "I'm thinking it's time that we just asked him."

The three of them went quiet and thought about that for a few seconds. Digg had a small smile on his face and Felicity looked intrigued. Oliver, on the other hand, was just confused.

"What exactly do you mean by _ask him_?" he queried. Who knew – maybe in Digg's vocabulary ask him was a euphemism for pull him off the streets and put an arrow in his shoulder?

But, no, apparently not. "What does anyone mean when they use the work _ask_ " Digg snorted. "Ask him the damn question – ask him why he keeps coming after Felicity. Maybe he'll answer if he thinks it will get him what he wants."

"I thought that's what we were trying to do yesterday when we went looking for him at the convention?"

Digg nodded impatiently. "It was, but we didn't find him. So I'm thinking we go to his home. Didn't Tess say the Martins live somewhere on the Upper East Side? We could be at the house in 30 minutes."

"Yeah, she did say that," Oliver agreed slowly. "I think she also said they live behind five layers of security. We didn't exactly bring our gear."

Digg chuckled. "This isn't Starling, Oliver. I'm not suggesting we break in and have The Arrow put the fear of God into him."

Really? "Then what are you suggesting, Digg?"

"I'm suggesting we go ring the doorbell like normal people and ask to speak with Jeff Martin." Ignoring Oliver's incredulous expression, he added, "Felicity can use the MIT connection as an excuse. Say that there's an event for the local alumni and she was hoping Jeff would be able to join. That might get her in the door."

"And then?" So far, Oliver didn't think this idea was very promising. Felicity in the home of her probable abductor seemed like a recipe for disaster to him.

"And then she tells Marin ever so nicely that she's aware that he's the guy who tried to grab her…twice. And she lets him know that she's told a number of her close friends and if anything were to happen to her…well, he'll be number one on the list of suspects. And then she asks why he wants her."

"Seriously?"

"Do I look like I'm trying to make a joke, Oliver?"

He stared at Diggle, not bothering to hide his disdain. This was a bone-headed plan. Jeff Martin was involved in two attempts to kidnap Felicity and now Digg was suggesting she walk into his house and not worry because she was going to tell him they were on to him? What the hell was Digg thinking? He was about to give the man a piece of his mind when he heard Felicity say slowly, "I like it."

He spun back around in his seat to face her, transferring his annoyance from Diggle to her. "Felicity!" he snapped, more loudly than he'd intended. "How can you say that? It's an idiotic idea. The guy's tried to grab you twice, and now you're just going to serve yourself up on a silver platter?" Felicity didn't respond, just glanced at Diggle with her eyebrows raised. Oliver shook his head in disgust. "I don't understand either one of you. You're usually both smarter than this." He glared at the two of them for good measure.

Felicity and Diggle said nothing – just continued to look at each other with their patented expression that said, _there goes Oliver again, you know he always has to be in charge_. Oliver had seen that expresion in the foundry plenty of times; it annoyed him then, and it was really annoying him now.

Felicity seemed to understand that. She turned away from Digg and put her hand on Oliver's wrist, giving him a winning smile. "Think about it, Oliver," she said gently. "If it really is Jeff Martin, he's not going to commit a crime in his own home in front of his family – not unless they're all in on it, which I highly doubt. His father is a billionaire with access to any kind of tech he wants; he certainly has no interest in me. We'll stay just long enough to let Jeff know that we're onto him and then suggest that we meet some other place to discuss it, like civilized people."

"What if he pretends he has no idea what you're talking about?"

She shrugged. "We'll be no worse off. And it still might make him think twice, knowing that we can ID him." Her optimistic smile didn't waver.

Oliver hated the idea – really hated it. It was naïve and impulsive and unlikely to yield results. And yet – dammit - despite all that he knew he was going to have to agree to it, for one reason and one reason alone. Neither Felicity nor Digg had raised the subject…yet…but they all knew that the danger of her going to the Martin's was less than the danger she'd faced when she was taken by Slade Wilson. It was the elephant in the room. Both Oliver and Digg could go with her to the Martin's and protect her. With Slade, she'd been alone. The Martin's were successful, presumably sane people. Slade had been deranged. Felicity was all in on going to the Martin house. Oliver had set the whole Slade thing up without her knowledge or agreement. For all those reasons he was screwed now – he didn't have a leg to stand on.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Fine," he said reluctantly, "you go to Martin's house. But you don't go in there alone - I go with you."

Felicity frowned and glanced up once more at Diggle. "Actually, I think it might be better if Digg went with me. You're pretty recognizable, even in New York, and I don't have a good explanation for why Oliver Queen would be accompanying me on an alumni visit. Depending on who greets us, they might be more interested in talking to you and we'll never get to our real purpose for going there. I'll be forgotten."

"I could go in as your boyfriend," he suggested quickly.

The minute he'd said it, he was sorry. The awkwardness they'd avoided so well up until now returned in a rush. She stared at him and her face flushed.

"Oliver…" she began slowly. She paused, clearly searching for words.

Fortunately, Digg intervened. "I'm happy to go in with Felicity. You can walk there with us and be right outside."

"We don't have the comms."

"We can use our cell phones. I'll dial you before we get in, and just keep the phone on in my pocket. I doubt anything is going to happen. As Felicity says, it's unlikely Jeff Martin is going to try anything in his family's home."

Oliver frowned. He knew when he was beat. "Fine," he agreed shortly.

There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and the three of them turned to see Tess and J.T. shuffle in, still looking mostly asleep. Tess gave them a puzzled stare. "Are the three of you always this loud in the morning?"


	10. Chapter 10

Unlike Felicity Smoak, Vincent Keller was having pleasant dreams.  The images were blurry and the motion indistinct, like watching a movie through bubble-wrap, but there were pleasant smells and soft touches and the sense of being someplace very peaceful.  It was a place where he knew instinctively he could let down his guard without risk of the Beast taking over.  The Beast was still there, of course -- he would never disappear entirely – but he had ceded his power and become merely another one of God’s creatures, neither innately good nor evil.  It would be nice, Vincent thought, to stay here a while.

But as was often the case with dreams, things began to change.  The pleasant smells and soft touches grew more distant and he was dimly aware of a tinny noise persistently clanging nearby.  He groaned and pulled the pillow over his head, determined to make the noise go away.  Eventually it did, replaced by a more pleasing, familiar sound.

Cautiously, he removed the pillow and opened his eyes to a room that was still fairly dark.  Catherine was sitting on the opposite side of the bed facing away from him, her naked back looking youthful and vulnerable as she talked on the phone.  Vincent eyed the four-foot gap between his body and hers and understood now why the agreeable scent in his dream had disappeared; it was because Catherine had moved away to take the call.

“J.T.,” she was saying softly, “can’t this wait another couple of hours?  Vincent is still asleep and I’m pretty sure that whatever you think is going to happen won’t happen until people are actually up and have started their day.”  She was using the same tone she used when dealing with agitated suspects – gentle and reasonable, as if soothing a frightened animal.  Vincent had seen her employ it to great effect numerous times but it couldn’t have been working now, because he could also hear J.T.’s voice continue to squawk faintly over the phone.

He squinted at the clock on the bedside table:  6:28. Catherine was right, it _was_ early.  His shift at the hospital didn’t start until 9:00, which meant he should still be able to snatch another hour or two of sleep, preferably with Catherine draped over him.  He just needed to get J.T. to postpone his meltdown for another couple of hours.    

He sighed and sat up.  “Give me the phone,” he said to her groggily.

She turned and smiled, surprised but clearly pleased to see him awake.  She slid across the bed to hand him the phone, pulling the covers up to her chin and wrapping one arm around his waist.  He lay back down and put his head close to hers so that she could hear both sides of the conversation.

“J.T.,” he said sleepily, “What’s got you going at…” --  he glanced once more at the clock – “6:29 in the morning?”

“They’re planning to go to Martin’s house.” J.T. replied instantly, as if that explained everything.

Vincent rested the hand not holding the phone on top of Catherine’s arm, pulling her closer. “Who is planning to go to Martin’s house?” he asked patiently.  He noticed he was using the same tone she had used moments earlier.  J.T. must inspire it in people.

“Your army buddy and Felicity.  They researched the car that tried to grab her yesterday and traced it back to William Martin’s old company, Velograph.  Digg suggested they stop beating around the bush and just go to the Martin’s house to speak with Jeff.  They plan to ask him directly what this is all about.”  J.T.’s voice rose with a hint of hysteria on the word “about.”

Vincent frowned.  The scheme, while potentially awkward, hardly seemed to merit the anxiety attack that J.T. was having.  Everything kept pointing back to Martin – why _not_ ask him?  He glanced at Catherine.  She also looked puzzled but not terribly worried.  Given her preference for tackling obstacles head on, he suspected she probably approved of the plan.

“O…kay,” he said slowly to J.T.  “I take it you think this is a bad idea?”

“Of course it’s a bad idea.  Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that when Felicity and I first encountered Jeff Martin he had a Beast as his wingman?  You know, the guy with the claws who made you spend a good couple of hours stitching up her back?  And now she’s going to his house?”

Vincent sighed.  “No, I haven’t forgotten that, J.T.  But Jeff Martin didn’t Beast out _himself_.  I’m still not seeing the problem.”

“No he didn’t Beast out himself,” J.T. admitted.  “But if Jeff Martin _knows_ a Beast, there’s a chance he could also _be_ a Beast and just didn’t show it at the time.  It’s a pretty small club.” 

“J.T., I doubt Jeff Martin is a Beast.  I remember you telling me Felicity took him down with a knee to his nuts.”  Vincent felt, rather than heard, Catherine chuckle beside him. “If he really _were_ a Beast, that move wouldn’t have worked; he would have Beasted-out on the spot.  You know that.  What’s really got you worried? 

There was silence on the other end of the phone which Vincent took to mean that J.T. was collecting his thoughts and trying to calm down.  This was good.  Hell, depending on what J.T. said next, there might even be a chance for another hour of sleep.  He waited. 

“Fine,” J.T. said at last.  “Jeff Martin probably isn’t a Beast.” His voice sounded steadier and Vincent smiled at Catherine.  But then J.T. continued,   “Martin’s buddy, on the other hand, definitely _is_ a Beast and maybe _he’ll_ be there this morning, too.  I don’t care how good your army pal Diggle is – if a Beast shows up, he doesn’t stand a chance.  And if by some miracle he and Felicity _do_ manage to get away, they’re going to have all kinds of questions.   She was pretty out of it the other night with the sedative and she hasn’t really pushed the whole Beast issue.  But if they run into a Beast this morning, Digg’ll see it too and there’ll be no way to dismiss it.”  There was a pause, then J.T. added more quietly, “You must have noticed that there’s something funny about those three.  For a CEO, a bodyguard and an EA, they seem pretty damn good at investigations.  I get the feeling they’ve looked into weird shit before and I don’t like the idea of them starting to investigate Beasts.   It could eventually circle back to you.”

And there you had it – the real reason for J.T.’s nervousness.  As much as he might be worried about Felicity encountering a Beast, ultimately this was about him protecting Vincent, same as always.  After ten years of keeping Vincent hidden – of keeping his _secret_ hidden – J.T. was still doing everything he could to keep the world from learning that Vincent was a Beast.   Vincent glanced down at Catherine with a reluctant smile.  It was tough to be too annoyed with your best friend when his anxiety attack was the result of him having your back.  She smiled in return and tightened the arm around his waist 

Vincent stretched out in the bed, facing up to the fact that he might have to leave its comfortable warmth soon.  “So,” he said to J.T., “what are you proposing that we do?  If you think they’re going to run into a Beast I could go there with them as protection…”

“No,” J.T. said sharply, “that’s exactly what you shouldn’t do.  If the Beast really does show up then you might have to Beast out to fight him.  And then the cat’s out of the bag." 

“So we let them walk in there and take their chances?  That doesn’t feel right.”

“I don’t know that we have much choice.  I tried talking them out of going but your pal Digg is pretty stubborn.  And without giving them a whole Beast story, I really didn’t have a good reason to offer.”

Vincent lay still a long moment, thinking about his time with Diggle in the army.  They guy was as tough as nails, but he was also empathetic and as honest as they come.  Digg was a man he would trust with his life…hell, he’d trust him with _Catherine’s_ life.  So why not his secret?  There were a few people who knew; Tess, Catherine’s father, that ass of a district attorney, Gabe Lowen.  Digg could handle it.  He’d be surprised, sure, but Vincent could explain about Muirfield and the experiments.

“J.T.,” he said at last, very carefully, “If I have to tell Digg, I’m not sure that’s the worst thing in the world.  We saw a lot in Afghanistan.  I don’t think he’ll judge me.  And he used to be in covert ops, he can keep a secret.”

J.T. snorted, “There’s secrets and then there’s secrets.  This isn’t exactly like hiding an affair or owing money.  And even if he does buy into the whole Beast story, there’s Felicity and – worse – there’s Oliver Queen. Those three stick together.  If Digg and Felicity find out, you can sure as hell bet that Queen will too.  And we know nothing about _him_ except that he has a reputation for partying and apparently can throw a pretty good punch.  You’ve finally been able to come out of hiding and resume your medical career.  Do you really want to risk that?”

Vincent thought about it.  Maybe J.T. had a point.  “No,” he said reluctantly, “probably not.”

“So you’re not going to go near the Martin’s this morning, right?”

Vincent chuckled.  This was so J.T.  “Is that why you called in a panic, J.T.?  To tell me not to go near someplace I had no plans to go near this morning?”  Catherine smiled.

There was a pause. When he spoke, J.T. sounded a bit embarrassed.  “I suppose so,” he said sheepishly. 

“Well, message received.  And now maybe we can all get back to a little more sleep.”

There was another pause.  “Right.  Talk to you later.”

Vincent ended the call.  Despite what he’d said to J.T., however, going back to sleep didn’t seem like an option anymore.  While he thought the chances were remote, letting Diggle and his friends walk into a potential Beast situation without warning didn’t sit well.  He glanced down at Catherine, still curled around him with a thoughtful look on her face.

“So,” he said, “what do _you_ think we should do?”

 

* * *

 

Felicity Smoak was a very intelligent woman and a surprisingly good judge of character for someone so young.  During their two years working together, Digg had developed a healthy respect for her ability to see through peoples’ facades; she’d figured out Moira Queen’s devious side pretty quickly, for example, even at the risk of her friendship with Oliver.  And he could tell that she had taken to Vincent.  Her trust in him was evident.  Digg considered that another example of her good sense.

If there were anyone that Felicity occasionally had a blind spot about, it was herself.  It wasn’t so much that she lacked confidence; it was more that she doubted others’ ability to recognize her value.  She knew she was smart and capable, but she saw herself as a square peg in a round hole, not conforming to the world’s notion of a beautiful, successful woman.  When someone saw her differently, she was surprised.  And when someone truly appreciated her worth – like Oliver or Walter Steele – well, then she gave them her all.

So it hadn’t surprised Diggle when Felicity had said that William Martin, founder of Velograph, would have no interest in her.  It was consistent with her notion of how others saw her.  He also wasn’t surprised, however, when that turned out to be entirely untrue.

They had waited until 8:30 to go to the Martin’s house.  It was still on the early side for a social call, but Digg was worried that they’d lose folks to their daily activities if they waited much longer.  As they approached the multi-storied stone home with the imposing iron gate, they reviewed their strategy.  Oliver would wait on the sidewalk down the block, out of sight of the front door.   Felicity would ring the doorbell and do most of the talking.  And Digg would stick by her side saying as little as possible, with his phone connected to Oliver’s.  If pressed to explain himself, he was going to go with the truth; he was a colleague and friend of Felicity’s, making sure she got safely through her alumni visits.  Felicity had prepared a short tale about a get-together for MIT alums in the classes of the 2000’s and 2010’s.  Digg hoped it would be enough to get their foot in the door.  Given their lack of appointment and the Martin’s billionaire status, he thought there was a decent chance that security would turn them away.

That turned out to be not at all the case.  As they approached the Martin’s, Diggle could hear cameras swing in their direction, no doubt sending pictures of them to monitors somewhere inside.   He then heard a short buzz and watched the gate swung inward before they even had a chance to ring the bell.  The heavy wooden door to the house opened to reveal William Martin himself standing there.

“Felicity Smoak!” he called out as they walked up the front steps.  “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to meet you.  And now here you are, at my home.  I’m so delighted!  Please come in.” 

Felicity paused on the threshold, clearly dumbfounded.  “You know who I am?” she asked him.

He smiled at her.  “I certainly do,” he replied warmly. “I’ve always made it a point to keep my eye on young, technical talent, and I became aware of you a few years ago when you got into MIT.  I’m an alum myself _and_ a donor to the scholarship fund.  You were one of the brightest and most worthy recipients.”  He gestured toward a small, sitting room off the front hallway and added, “Please have a seat while I get us some coffee.  I’m so interested in hearing what brings you to my door this morning.”  And without waiting further, he disappeared down the hall.

Felicity raised one eyebrow in puzzlement at Diggle and then, as requested, walked into the room and perched on the edge of a small sofa.  Digg sat down beside her.

“Did that seem a little weird to you?” she asked him in a low voice.

Digg shrugged.  “That he knows who you are or that he’s a billionaire getting his own coffee?”  In his year working at the Queen Mansion he doubted Moira knew how to find the kitchen, let alone actually use the coffee maker. 

She rolled her eyes slightly.  “That he knows who I am.” 

“Felicity, from what J.T. says, two thirds of the people at the hacking convention know who you are.  Why should he be any different?”

“He’s William Martin, founder of Velograph.  He’s brilliant in his own right, and he’s probably had access to some of the best technical minds in the computing industry.”

“Well, apparently he puts your mind in that category as well.  And his story about the scholarship fund makes sense.  It’s really not that weird.”

She frowned, but before they could talk further, William Martin entered the room bearing a tray with cups and a large pot.  As he put the tray down and fussed with the coffee and cream, Diggle took an opportunity to study the man.  He recalled Tess telling Catherine that Martin was attractive and supposed he could see the appeal to women.  In addition to being very wealthy, Martin was tall, with vibrant blue eyes and a thick head of salt and pepper hair.  His energy and charisma took over the room, not unlike the way Oliver’s presence took command of the foundry.   Still, Diggle wondered if Martin had experienced some setback recently.  His clothes hung a little loosely on his body as if he’d lost weight, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“So,” Martin said to Felicity, “tell me what you’re up to these days.  I recall you went to Queen Consolidated when you graduated.  I was a little surprised you didn’t go to a startup, but then I suppose QC works on some cutting edge technologies.  Of course, if I’d still owned Velograph I would have made you an offer myself, but I had sold the company by then.”  He took a sip of coffee.  “Are you still with QC?”  He studied Felicity intently as he awaited her response.  Diggle could have been invisible for all the notice Martin was taking of him. 

Felicity shook her head.  “No, I left a few months ago.  There was a…change in management.” 

Martin frowned.  “And the new management didn’t appreciate your skills?  I find that hard to believe.”

Felicity shrugged slightly.  “I was uncomfortable with the direction the new CEO was taking the company in.”  

Martin squinted thoughtfully.  “That’s right.  Isabel Rochev took over.  I never met her myself, but she had a reputation as a pretty ruthless businesswoman.  Still, I’m not sure she would have been worse than Oliver Queen as CEO.   _She_ had experience.  Queen didn’t.  If he hadn’t been the son of the founder and owned a huge block of shares, he would never have been given a chance to run the company.”  His face grew harder.  “Son’s shouldn’t take their inheritance for granted,” he said shortly.  “Some things need to be earned.”  Looking at his face, Digg had the feeling that he was no longer speaking about Oliver Queen.  He wondered about Martin’s relationship with his _own_ son. 

There was a brief silence.  Felicity made no comment about Oliver’s skills as CEO and didn’t mention that her last position at QC had been as his assistant.  It seemed a wise move; given Martin’s admiration of her technical skills and his less than generous statements about Oliver, he probably wouldn’t have reacted well to hearing that her most recent job duties included scheduling lunch appointments and picking up dry cleaning.  Martin smiled again at Felicity.  “So where are you working now?” he asked more cheerfully. 

Felicity pursed her lips.  “I’m actually between jobs at the moment.” 

“Taking time to assess what you want to do?” Martin finished for her.  “Well, that’s wise.  For someone with your talents, there will be plenty of options.  You should consider coming back East.  There’s another tech boom started; you could get your foot in the door of a new company and progress much more quickly than you could at a stodgy, big place like QC.  And believe me, there’s a lot of CEO’s out there who will be much better for your career than Isabel Rochev _or_ Oliver Queen.” 

Felicity flushed slightly.  She was aware, no doubt, that Oliver was hearing most of this conversation through Digg’s cell phone and probably recalling when _she_ had told her former boss that he was hurting her career.  It had been almost a year, but Digg remembered the day Oliver had made Felicity his EA as if it were yesterday.  She hadn’t been happy and had certainly let Oliver know it.  At the time, Oliver had gotten his way – as he often did.  But hearing someone like Martin talk about her potential now, well…maybe it was giving Oliver pause.  Digg hoped he was at least thinking about what Felicity had sacrificed for him.   

Felicity certainly looked as if _she_ were thinking about it; she was staring at Martin as if she were actually considering his career advice.  Digg wondered if she would be willing to leave Starling.  A half a year ago he would have said no way – she was too dedicated to Oliver and to their mission -- but now he wasn’t so sure.  Despite her bravado at the time, watching Oliver with Sara had to have hurt.   If Oliver dove into another relationship…well, there was only so much she could take.  And she did need to earn a living. 

Felicity smiled pleasantly at William Martin.  “I appreciate your guidance,” she said.  “I will certainly think about it.”  She took a sip of coffee then put her cup down on the tray. “I actually came here today looking for Jeffrey.  It’s kind of impromptu, but we’re planning a get-together for local alums and I was hoping he might be interested.  I believe he was class of 2012?”

Martin waved his hand dismissively.  “Jeff – oh, he squeaked through with enough credits to get a piece of paper in 2012.   I’m not sure I’d consider him a true graduate.   He certainly didn’t have your passion for the sciences and he’s not working in technology.”   Digg was once again struck by the tone of his voice.  It was disinterested – as if Martin had passed disappointed some time ago and his son barely existed for him now.  Felicity heard it too.  Digg saw her eyes narrow and her jaw drop a little.

“Not everyone can love computing the way we do,” she said softly. 

“I suppose,” Martin agreed shortly, “But a man’s got to have some kind of skill.  And he needs to be capable of earning his own living.  Like I said, a son shouldn’t take his inheritance for granted.”  He shrugged, “Anyway, I’m sure Jeff’s somewhere around the house.  He doesn’t have a job to go to, although he often manages to disappear for most of the day.  Oh – here he is now.”

As if on cue, Jeff Martin poked his head in the door.  “Dad?  I thought I heard…” He stopped when he saw Felicity and Digg.  His face grew a paler. If Diggle had had any doubts that Jeff Martin was the man in pursuit of Felicity, they were gone now.  He had to hand it to him, though,  the kid recovered quickly.  After a few awkward seconds he added, “I didn’t realize you had company” in an even voice. 

“Jeff,” his father replied, “this is Felicity Smoak and her friend.” (Martin had never bothered to ask Digg’s name).  “I think I’ve mentioned her to you before – the young woman who got a full scholarship to MIT?” 

“Yeah, you may have said something a couple hundred times.” 

Martin ignored his son’s sarcasm.  “Well, she’s here to see you, to talk about an alumni get-together.”

Jeff Martin’s eyes narrowed.  “Really?  I don’t remember reading anything in the newsletter.”

“It’s kind of spontaneous,” Felicity said sweetly, staring at Jeff. “As you might have guessed, a few of us are in town for the hacking convention, and we thought it would be fun to meet up.”  She sat a little straighter on the sofa.  “In fact, I heard that _you_ might have been looking for _me_ after the convention on Tuesday evening.  I thought I’d make it easier for you -- stop by and introduce myself.”

William Martin raised his eyebrows.  “Is that true, Jeff?”

Jeff shook his head.  “No, Ms. Smoak is mistaken.  I didn’t go to the convention.” 

His father nodded.  “Well, I can certainly believe that.  You’ve never shown much inclination for computing before.”  His brief moment of interest in his son was over.  “I’ll tell you what, though,” he said to Felicity with more animation.  “My annual benefit for the New York City hospitals is tomorrow night.  I realize it’s short notice, but there will be quite a few prominent business folks there.  Why don’t you come?  If you’re between jobs, you can do a little networking.  I’d be happy to make any introductions.”

Felicity flushed.  “Thank you.  But I’m not sure…”

“You can bring a date, if want,” Martin continued, glancing at Diggle for the first time.  “And, of course, you don’t need to bother with the $5000 a plate contribution.  Who knows, you might walk out of it with a new career.” 

“It’s really kind of you.  But I’m not sure I’ve got a dress that…” 

“Felicity would love to go.”  Digg stepped in, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the Martin house.  “She’ll certainly be here tomorrow night.  Thanks.” Felicity turned to give Diggle a hard stare.  He ignored it. 

Jeff Martin looked at his father and then toward Felicity.  “I’ve always found the thing incredibly boring, myself,” he said to her, “but given how well you and my father seem to click, it might be right up your alley.  At any rate, the food is really good.”  He turned toward the door. 

“Felicity and I are headed to the bagel place down the street for breakfast,” Diggle called after him.  “If you’d like to join us, she can tell you more about the alumni get-together.  The two of you probably have a _lot_ you can catch up on.” 

Jeff Martin studied him for a minute.  “Maybe,” he said at last.  “It’s kind of a busy day, though.”  His father shook his head but said nothing, and after one last glance at Felicity, Martin junior left.

“Well,” Felicity said to Martin senior, “we really have to be going as well.  Thank you again for the career advice and the…invitation.”  She gave Digg a wry glance as she stood up.  “I’m looking forward to it.”

Martin took her hand and gently shook it.  “It’s been my pleasure.  And I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow night.”  He led her into the hallway and opened the front door.  “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Digg,” Felicity said sharply as they reached the sidewalk, “why on earth did you sign me up to go to the charity event?” 

Diggle smiled and steered her toward Oliver, still waiting a half a block away.  “A couple of reasons.  One -- you do need to be thinking about a real job and the networking opportunity can’t hurt.  You don’t know who you might meet.  You may not want to come back East but you could still make a useful career connection.”

“And the other reason?”

“Our friend Jeff appears to be a pretty cool customer.  Even if he does show up at the bagel place, I think there’s a good chance he’s not going to spill the beans.”

“And going to a charity ball will change that how?” 

“It’ll give you access to the house.  Once the ball gets going and everyone’s had a few glasses of champagne, you can take the opportunity to disappear for twenty minutes to take a look at Jeff’s room and his computer.  Maybe there’s something there that will give us a clue.”

“It’s a good idea,” Oliver said, pocketing his cell phone as they caught up to him.  “Jeff’s probably never thought about the need to hide physical evidence.  Felicity, you and I can go together.”  She frowned, but said nothing.

“And who knows,” Digg added to Felicity.  “You might even have some fun.  It’s a ball, after all.”

Felicity grimaced.  “Spoken from the person who doesn’t have to find a gown and get her hair done in one of the most expensive cities in the world.”

Digg smiled, “I’ll bet Cat will be happy to assist you with that.”

That seemed to help.  “I like her,” Felicity said softly.  “Your friend Vincent has good sense when it comes to girlfriends.”  She didn’t look at Oliver, but Digg wondered if she were thinking about Helena.  Oliver hadn't shown a lot of sense with that one.  As they turned the corner and headed toward the bagel place, he heard a low rumble.

“Even if Martin doesn’t meet us, I guess it’s good that we’re headed toward breakfast,” Digg joked.  “I can hear someone’s stomach growling.”

“It’s not my stomach…” Oliver and Felicity said simultaneously.  The three of them stopped.

There was another snarl, louder this time.  It sounded like a cross between a large jungle cat and something…well, something almost human.  They looked at each other and then turned to scan their surroundings.

There was a third growl. 

“What the hell?” Diggle asked.

Oliver looked up.  “On the fire escape,” he said shortly.

Digg and Felicity followed Oliver’s gaze to see a man staring fiercely down at them from the 3rd story of a red brick building.  At least he had the clothing and the shape of a man.  His hands, however, sported claws and his eyes were yellow and almost feline.  He leapt off the fire escape and dropped 25 feet to land easily in a crouched position a short distance away.  He appeared poised to spring, but also seemed to be sizing up the three of them.  His eyes moved back and forth, then finally focused on Felicity.

“Oh, hell,” she said softly.  “It’s him again.”

“Him?” Diggle asked nervously.

“The guy who came after me on Tuesday night after the conference.  The Mirakuru guy who isn’t a Mirakuru guy.” 

The man growled again.

“I’ve never seen Mirakuru do this,” Oliver said tensely.  “Felicity, he wants you.  Run – get the hell out of here.  Digg and I will hold him. 

“Oliver, I don’t think…”

“Don’t argue with me, Felicity, just go.  Run back to the Martin’s and ring the doorbell.” 

“Oliver…” She stared at him and Digg could see they were about to head into one of their battles of will.  _Please, Felicity_ , he thought, _now is not a good time_.

She blinked, “Fine,” and turned and headed down the street at a jog.

The snarling man started after her and Oliver blocked his way.  “I don’t think so,” he said, then connected with a hard right to man’s jaw.  The guy didn’t even stagger.  His eyes moved from Felicity’s retreating form to Oliver and he grabbed Starling City’s vigilante by the upper arms and threw him effortlessly against the building.  Oliver landed hard on his side and began slowly getting to his feet, clearly winded.  The man walked toward him.

“Hey asshole,” Digg called out, drawing the man’s – _the thing’s_ \-- attention away from Oliver.  “Why don’t you head back to the zoo where you belong?”  The guy stared at him curiously and then, in a blink of an eye, covered the 20 feet separating them and tossed Digg just as easily through the air as he had Oliver.  As Digg landed on his back, he had the sinking realization that this was hopeless.  They had no weapons, no tranquilizers, nothing to stop this guy except their bodies.  And those bodies weren’t going to hold up very long.  As he got to his feet and glanced at Oliver and he could tell Oliver was thinking the same thing.  This… _creature_ , whatever he was, could move inhumanly fast and was impossibly strong.  Digg looked down the street and was relieved to see that Felicity was out of sight.  Maybe she’d made it back to the Martin’s. 

The man growled yet again, and started advancing toward Diggle.  He took a deep breath and waited.

And, suddenly, there were two of them. Two men/beasts with super-strength and claws and yellow eyes and  -- _glory be!_ – they were fighting each other.   Things were moving so quickly that Digg’s eyes could barely follow it, but he could tell they were circling each other and fists were flying and the second creature seemed to be driving the first one away.  After about 90 seconds the first guy leapt effortlessly back up to the fire escape with the second one right on his heels.  They bounded over the side of the building and were gone. 

He stared at Oliver and Oliver stared back in stunned silence.  After a minute of tense waiting, Digg felt his breathing ease a little.  It looked like the two… _whatever they were_ … weren’t coming back. 

“Holy shit,” Felicity’s voice interrupted the silence.  “There are two of them?”

Oliver looked at her.  “Where did you come from?  I thought you ran back to the Martin’s.”

She shook her head.  “I went down to the end of the street and hid behind the dumpster.”

He studied her for a long moment.  “You’re not great at following orders, are you?”

Felicity smiled.


	11. Chapter 11

“You _had_ to do it, didn’t you,” J.T. said, before Vincent could even get one foot in the door.

“J.T…” Vincent began.

“No, don’t ‘ _J.T’._ me, big guy.  It was really simple.   All you had to do was _nothing_ – just get up and go to work at the hospital like any other day.”

“I _did_ go to work at the hospital.”

“Yeah, but you made a little detour first, didn’t you?   The tale of two Beasts has been the hot topic of the afternoon – well, that and the best place to find a reasonably priced evening gown in New York City.  _Holy crap there are two_ _of them_ and _I don’t think they’re Mirakuru soldiers_ are pretty much all I’ve been hearing.”

“And?”

“And they’re going crazy with all kinds of theories.  Felicity’s been glued to the computer looking for footage for the last three hours, and I’ve been giving Queen a wide berth because he looks like he wants to break someone’s jaw since he couldn’t hurt the other Beast.” 

“Has she found anything?”

J.T. sighed and appeared to calm down a little. “Thankfully, no.  Apparently you were out of sight of any security cameras at the Martin’s and there was no other surveillance on the street.  You must have been in full Beast-mode, too, because none of them recognized you.”

“So why all the fuss?  And what’s this about an evening gown?”

J.T. laughed.  “Trust you to zero in on that one.  You and Cat always find a way to turn an investigation into an excuse for fancy dress. Why don’t you come on back and you can ask yourself.  Cat and Tess showed up about an hour ago.”

Vincent nodded and followed J.T. into the large expanse that served as his living room, computer room and occasional research lab.  Felicity was seated at the computer with Catherine and Tess huddled around her.  Queen and Digg stood off to the side, with Oliver watching Felicity as if he thought the Beast might break in and try to steal her at any moment.  Vincent studied the two Starling men’s reactions carefully when they spotted him, but saw nothing that would signal them recognizing him as the second Beast. 

He breathed a little easier.  Despite his casual response to J.T., Vincent had had misgivings about Beasting-out near the Martin’s house earlier.  His life was finally back to something resembling normal and he was thrilled to be practicing medicine again.  He knew that could all disappear in a second if his “other self” were made public.  However, he and Catherine had also agreed that they could not let the trio from Starling walk into a potential ambush in which they stood no chance.   So they’d settled on him staking-out the Martin’s place until Queen, Digg and Felicity had safely gotten out of there.  As Catherine looked up and flashed him a warm smile he felt his reservations disappear; her expression confirmed that he’d done the right thing and managed to get away undetected.  All was well.

“Felicity’s been invited to the Martin’s hospital benefit tomorrow night,” Catherine announced.

Vincent chuckled.  “Ah…so that explains the search for the reasonably priced evening gown,” he said to J.T.

“And as I was telling Felicity,” Catherine continued, “I know some very good consignment stores.  The three of us can shop tomorrow as soon as the places open.”  She grinned at Tess.

“You don’t have to work tomorrow?” J.T. asked.

Catherine shook her head.  “Tess and I signed up to do security at the benefit.  If you remember last year, the mayor and a number of the city council members attended.  The captain decided it would be a good idea to have a few officers in plain clothes there this year just in case.  As soon as she found out, Tess volunteered both of us.” She smiled ruefully at her partner.  “An opportunity to mingle with the rich and famous.  So, anyway, we’ve got the day off and will be on duty at night.”

Vincent nodded.  He wondered if “plain clothes” meant Catherine would be dressing up in evening attire as well.  He loved it when she did.  Of course, she was beautiful no matter what she wore, but somehow when she changed from her working outfit of jeans and a shirt to a long dress she looked like she could be royalty from an earlier century.  It was a cliché, he knew, but she really did have timeless elegance.

Oliver Queen’s voice brought him back to the present.  “Felicity, I’m not sure we should still go to that gala, not after what happened this morning.

Felicity frowned.  “You think that…whatever he is…will come after me at the benefit?”

“I think it’s more than a coincidence that he found you right after you spoke with Jeff Martin.  You had just left the house two minutes ago.  There’s no way he could have traveled there from somewhere else – he had to have already been there and known exactly where you were headed.  I think it _is_ Martin.”

Diggle stared at Queen.  “You think Jeff Martin is the guy who attacked us?  That he somehow transformed himself into that…creature…right after we left the house?”

Queen nodded.  “Do you have another explanation?  Come on, Digg, we’ve seen what,” he paused and glanced cautiously at Vincent and J.T., “…drugs can do to a person.  Given the timing, I think it’s got to be him.”

“I don’t know, Oliver.  If he transformed, it had to have been almost instantaneous.  Something on the genetic level, not some drug he took right after we left.  Even Mirakuru needs time to work.  Maybe he called someone.”

“And the guy got there in two minutes?  Jeff Martin didn’t know you and Felicity would be at his house this morning.  No…I think it _is_ Martin.”

Diggle shook his head. “That’s some crazy science.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve seen some crazy science before,” Queen said flatly.  “If you have any other theories, I’m willing to listen.”

Digg shrugged and said nothing.

Vincent noticed that J.T. was looking at him with an _I told you so_ expression on his face.  He could almost hear his friend’s voice saying: _They’re figuring it out…that people can morph into Beasts.  I told you there was something funny about those three.  They’re going to keep on investigating.  How long before they figure out that you’re one of those creatures too?_

Vincent frowned back, refusing to panic.  Even if they eventually uncovered the existence of Beasts, it didn’t mean they would discover that Vincent _was_ a Beast himself.  He glanced at Catherine and took comfort in the fact that she appeared unperturbed.   He suspected she wanted to get to the bottom of this thing with Martin as much as anyone.  They’d thought Muirfield had been shut down months ago.  If they were back to creating Beasts in NYC, well then there were bigger problems than Oliver Queen discovering Vincent’s secret identity.

 Felicity was staring at Queen thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s possible that the creature could be Jeff.”  She paused. “Still, I think I should go to the benefit.  If it _was_ him, he didn’t come after me in the house; he waited until we were down the street.  I don’t think he’s going transform in front of a couple hundred people.  The ball is still a good opportunity to investigate.”

 “Felicity…”

 “Seriously, Oliver.  I spent the entire afternoon hacking and came up with nothing.   Nothing from city surveillance cameras, nothing in his email.  Digg was right.  We need to see if we can find physical evidence.  We’ll never get a better chance than the benefit.”

 “Felicity…”

 She stood up out of her chair and walked over to him.  “Come on, Oliver, you know the drill.  My life, my choice.”  She held his eyes with a determined expression while Queen’s face wore an exasperated one.  Vincent got the impression that this was a fairly regular occurrence between the two of them.  For all of Queen’s imposing height and physique, Vincent wasn’t sure he would bet against Felicity.  She looked every bit as stubborn as Oliver.

 He took the opportunity to slide into Felicity’s now-empty chair next to Catherine.   While the blonde and her boss continued to debate, he said softly to his girlfriend, “If they’re right about Jeff Martin and she ends up going to that ball, she’s going to need more protection than Queen can give her.”

 Catherine smiled and glanced over at the pair from Starling.  “I can tell you right now, Felicity’s going to the ball.  Oliver doesn’t stand a chance.”  After a short pause, she added, “And, while I _also_ think it’s unlikely that Martin will Beast-out in front of everyone, it probably wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.  Tess and I will be there and we’ll be armed.   We’ll keep an eye out.”  She turned alongside Vincent to watch Felicity still arguing with Oliver.  Diggle was observing his friends with an amused smirk.

 Vincent took Catherine’s hand gently in his.  “I was thinking even more protection than that.”

 She looked at him knowingly but said nothing.

 “Would you mind, Catherine?”

 She shook her head.  “No, it’s probably a good idea.”

 “Thanks.”

 She smiled.  “You know Oliver’s going to hate it.”

 “Yup.”

 “Still, maybe it will be a wake-up call for him.  He needs one.”

 “Yup.”

 They turned back toward Queen and Felicity.  Felicity was standing inches away from Oliver and emphasizing her points by tapping one finger repeatedly on his chest.  Queen’s face had taken on a slightly desperate appearance.  Catherine was right; he was losing this one.

 Vincent cleared his throat.  “Felicity?” he called out.  The two stopped arguing to turn and look at him.

 “Yes, Vincent?”

 “This benefit is all about the local hospitals.”

 She nodded.  “Yes, I remember that.”

 “I think it’s important that the donors hear about what the hospitals really need from someone who knows.  You know, like a doctor?”

 She looked at him, not quite getting it.  “Sure, that makes sense,” she said neutrally.

 “So can I be your date to the benefit?”

 Her eyebrows rose in surprise and then she smiled. 

 Oliver Queen’s eyes narrowed.

* * *

As they walked to a hotel a few blocks away from J.T.’s place, Oliver was reconsidering his appreciation for John Diggle.  Yeah -- the guy was good in a fight, and yeah -- he was pretty damn smart, but for all his experience he could be surprisingly naïve.  Take now, for example.  Digg had clearly decided he could trust a friend he hadn’t seen in ten years with Felicity’s life.  Okay, Digg and Vincent had served together in the army and probably been in numerous harrowing situations, but was that sufficient reason to leave Felicity with him and J.T.?  Digg seemed to think so.  Oliver shook his head.

“You want to tell me what has you tied up in knots over there, Oliver?”  Digg sounded faintly amused.  “I can almost hear your teeth grinding.”

Oliver gave a sigh that was really more of a snort. “I can’t believe we’re leaving Felicity with your friends for the night.  She should have more protection, she’s clearly what this man-creature wants.” He strode forward angrily. “And what’s with your army pal, Keller, anyway?  We’re in his city so he gets to give the orders?  He just about kicked us out of J.T.’s place.”

Digg glanced briefly at him, but kept walking.  “I don’t know about you, Oliver, but I spent last night on a couch that was much too small and the night before in a postage stamp of an airplane seat.  I could use some real sleep.  A hot shower and a king-sized bed are sounding pretty damn good to me.”  After a few seconds, he added, “Vincent was just trying to do us a favor by suggesting we find a hotel.  I’m betting you could use the sleep too, if you were honest with yourself.  We’ll be more help to Felicity if we’re not half-dead on our feet.”

Oliver wasn’t convinced.  “Digg, if that _thing_ shows up at J.T.’s…”

“He didn’t follow us this morning, Oliver.  He doesn’t know Felicity is there.  And, if by some strange coincidence he _does_ show up, he’ll find Vincent, J.T., and their two detective girlfriends with guns.  I’m guessing he’s not bullet-proof.”

“We don’t know that.  Look at the Mirakuru soldiers.”

Diggle pursed his lips, glanced skyward, and then sighed.  “Fine.  If he _does_ go to J.T.’s _and_ turns out to be bullet-proof, we’re only ten minutes away; five minutes if we run.  But it’s not going to be necessary.”

There it was, that annoying Diggle optimism.  It was really getting on Oliver’s nerves.  “You’re awfully trusting of Vincent,” he said sharply.

“Yes, I am, Oliver.  That’s what happens when you’ve spent time with a guy facing the Taliban in Afghanistan.”  When Oliver didn’t respond, he added more evenly, “Look, you know I care about Felicity, too.  I wouldn’t risk her life.  She’s in good hands.  It’s not going to come to it, but if it does, Vincent can keep his head in a fight.”

“And what about asking her to be his date to the benefit?  How does that fit in with the plan?  Does he often request dates with other men’s…”  Oliver stopped.  He had been about to say _other men’s girlfriends_ , which would have been stupid.  Felicity wasn’t his girlfriend.   She was his partner and his friend and his…Felicity.  He glanced over at Diggle, but if Digg had noticed the gaff he was wisely keeping silent.  Oliver amended his question to say, “Does he often ask for dates with other women in front of _his_ girlfriend?”

“You heard the reason, Oliver.  It’s a benefit for the local hospitals.  Vincent is a doctor in one of those hospitals and he wants to speak to the donors about the need for new equipment.  And Catherine is working, so it’s not as if he can go with her.”

Oliver frowned.  Yeah, it all made sense, but still…

“He’s not really the guy to help her investigate, Digg.”

“And once again I remind you that he was in the army, with much of the same training I had.  He knows how to do reconnaissance.”  Digg gave him a smile that Oliver assumed was intended to reassure.  It didn’t work.  “It’ll be fine, Oliver,” Digg added, as Oliver continued to frown.  “He just needs to watch the door when she checks out Jeff’s bedroom and distract anyone who might come by.  It’s not rocket science.”

Oliver sighed.  “Fine.  But Felicity’s not going to be comfortable investigating with Vincent.  She’s used to being in the field with us.  She won’t like this.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, Oliver.”

What the hell did _that_ mean?

* * *

Catherine and Tess really did know how to shop.  This was their third consignment store that morning and Felicity had tried on at least six dresses that she would have been perfectly happy with.   Cat and Tess had stared at each one critically, turned toward each other, then gently shook their heads.

 “Close but not quite,” Cat would say, or Tess would remark, “Almost, but it’s missing something.”

Felicity wasn’t sure it was necessary for the dress to be perfect.  This was a mission, after all, and not a date.  She and Vincent were going to show up at the Martin’s for the benefit, mingle a little as Vincent spoke to various donors about the need for hospital equipment, and then quietly disappear for twenty minutes to check out Jeffrey’s room.  Not exactly a romantic evening.  And, at any rate, her options for the gown were somewhat limited.  Given the state of her stitches, anything with an open back wasn’t going to work.  That took half the dresses they’d looked at out of the running.

She stepped out of the dressing room in a red, one-shoulder gown with a high slit up the side.  It was a relatively simple dress, but the ruching around the waist was flattering and it fit as if it had been custom-made for her.  The gown covered her back, but left one shoulder and both arms bare.  And she’d always loved red.

Catherine and Tess studied her silently for a long moment.

“Turn around,” Tess commanded. 

Felicity complied as the two detectives assessed her carefully.   She spun back slowly to face them.

Catherine and Tess looked at each other with their eyebrows raised, and smiles gradually emerged on their faces.  “Partner,” Cat said at last, “I think we’ve achieved gown.”

Tess nodded.  “Damn straight, we have.  That’s the dress.”  They both turned back toward Felicity.

“Felicity,” Catherine said cheerfully, “you’re going to knock his socks off.”

Felicity frowned.  _Knock his socks off?_   Whose socks?  Vincent’s?  Should Cat really be urging Felicity to look good for _her_ boyfriend?  That didn’t seem right.

“Catherine,” she said slowly. “This evening is about the investigation.  It’s not a date.  I promise you I’m not trying to…”

Tess interrupted her with a laugh.  “Not Vincent’s socks, you idiot.  Oliver’s.”

Felicity was confused.  “Oliver and I aren’t in a relationship.”

Cat smiled.  “Yes, you told me that already.  And maybe you aren’t in one right now.  But the man looks at you as if you’re a glass of water in the desert.  And he clearly wasn’t happy about leaving you at J.T.’s last night.  Sometimes, guys just need a little encouragement.”

“I would have said _push_ ,” Tess corrected with a grin.  “You should ask J.T. about Cat and Vincent,” she added to Felicity.  “J.T. told me that Vincent had plenty of concerns about getting into a relationship, but Cat just wouldn’t take no for an answer.  She kept coming back, even when he asked her not to.  J.T. figures she wore Vincent down.  And now look at them.  They’re so happy it’s sickening.”

Catherine wore Vincent down?  She kept coming back even when he’d said he didn’t want a relationship?  Felicity thought about Oliver’s _because of the life I lead_ speech.   Had she accepted it too easily?  Like, Cat, should she have challenged him, pursued him?  She wasn’t sure it was in her makeup to do that.  And anyway, Oliver couldn’t have really meant what he’d said because he’d tumbled into a relationship pretty quickly with Sara -- and he clearly cared about _her_.   Still, she supposed there was caring and then there was _caring_ …

“Hey,” Catherine said gently, interrupting her thoughts. “what’s going on up there?”  She pointed to Felicity’s head.

Felicity shook her head.  “Just…junk,” she answered, and then added with a rueful smile, “I’m not sure I could do what you did… ignore what Oliver says and keep… _pushing_ him.”

Tess shrugged.  “Well, everybody’s different.  But I think you need to ask yourself what you really want, and what you’re going to do if you don’t get it.  You’re a beautiful and clearly talented woman.  It’s a shame not to share that with _someone,_ even if it’s not Oliver."

Felicity couldn’t argue with that.

“And anyway,” Tess added, “we’ve got more important matters at the moment.”

“We do?” Felicity asked.

“Of course.”  Tess looked at Catherine and they both said together, “Shoes.”

“Oh,” Felicity replied.  “Right.”

* * *

Vincent Keller looked really good in a tux.  Oliver didn’t like it.

They were assembled at J.T.’s about an hour before the benefit.  Felicity, Catherine and Tess were all dressed in their evening finery and Keller was sporting a penguin suit that clearly wasn’t a rental.  The tux emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and he looked like a male model in one of those magazine ads for a ridiculously expensive watch.  And he was standing very close to Felicity.

She also looked really good.  The red dress she was wearing showed off her curves and a lot of leg when she walked, and exposed one of his favorite parts of her body -- her beautiful shoulders.  The neckline wasn’t particularly plunging, but there was a subtle sexiness about the outfit that he was certain any male would pick up on.  He wasn’t sure he liked that, either.

He tried to take comfort in the fact that Vincent’s _girlfriend_ , Catherine, also appeared stunning in her gown.  She was wearing a green number that complemented the color of her eyes.  The waist was fitted, but the skirt was slightly full and Oliver was sure that any little girl seeing her would think she’d found a fairy princess.  If he had any brains, Keller’s eyes should be directed toward _Catherine,_ not Felicity.  So far, however, Keller’s brains must be taking a break because he kept leaning over to make quiet jokes in Felicity’s ear.  Once, Oliver thought he even put his hand on her lower back.

Tess was rounding out the group in a slinky brown dress that emphasized her slender height and endless legs.   J.T. was clearly appreciating it.  He kept grinning at her goofily.

“Well,” Catherine said to Tess, “I suppose we should get going.  We’re supposed to be there an hour early to do a walk through.”  She turned to Vincent and Felicity.  “You’ve got the comm links in your ears?”

Vincent replied, “Yes.”

Cat turned to Oliver, Digg and J.T.  “And you’ve got yours?”

The three of them nodded.

“Tess and I are going to have to work off two different frequencies,” Cat explained.  “There’s one for the police and another one for you guys.  Whatever you do,” she said sternly, “don’t get into the middle of any police discussions.  I’d rather they not know that we’ve got a little extra help tonight.  And anyway, these comms are just a courtesy.  If all goes well, none of you will need to come inside and do anything.”

“Got it,” Digg responded.

Tess turned toward Catherine.  “That purse is awfully small,” she said, pointing to the sparkly, green bag hanging by a tiny strap off her partner’s shoulder.  “Were you really able to fit your weapon in there?”

Catherine shook her head.  “No, I figured this dress has a pretty full skirt so I went with a holster strapped to my thigh.  I can get to it quickly if I need to.”

Tess grinned and nodded.  J.T. whistled softly then turned to Vincent.

“Tell me you don’t find that a little hot?”

Vincent smiled.  “I find all our women to be hot tonight,” he answered cheerfully.  He glanced down at Felicity and rested his hand lightly on her bare shoulder.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed.  They seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a writer's kudos to bushlaboo for guessing correctly about Felicity's date. Trying to pick up the posting pace. Enjoy.


	12. Chapter 12

Felicity wasn’t a complete stranger to a black tie affair.  As Oliver’s EA at Queen Consolidated, she’d attended a number of functions at the Queen mansion over the past year.   Walking into William Martin’s hospital benefit, however, was a completely different experience. 

For starters, Moira Queen had had a special talent for reminding Felicity that she was just the hired help, without ever coming right out and saying so.  Even before the whole _I know Malcolm is Thea’s father_ confrontation, the coolness of her greeting and the fact that she never asked Felicity anything of a personal nature had all served to point out that Felicity was attending a Queen party only to support Oliver, and otherwise _never_ would have been invited.   With one look down her patrician nose, Moira had managed to make it clear that the two of them would always move in different circles. 

William Martin, on the other hand, welcomed her like an honored guest.  She might have been the mayor of New York City or – hell -- the President as far as he was concerned.  As soon as she entered the benefit he excused himself from the group he was speaking with and began heading across the room to meet her, a broad smile on his face.  She couldn’t help but be flattered, even while she told herself that she was there to do a job.

The other difference was that she was not walking into the benefit in her usual, solo state.  She had a date.  A tall, very good-looking date who could really do justice to a tux.  As an intelligent, independent woman, she knew she was supposed to be above caring about the whole _unaccompanied to the party_ thing.  She might not be Gorgeous Laurel, but she was confident enough to know that she could turn a few heads and maybe even get hit on once or twice.   Still, as she entered the room on Vincent’s arm she felt an admittedly immature satisfaction as women stopped talking to study him and compare him to _their_ dates.  She could almost hear them thinking:  _Hell, that blonde’s guy is hot!  She must have something going for her if she’s landed a man like that._   Okay, so Vincent was really kind of a fake date, but they didn’t know that and, anyway, he had _wanted_ to go with her.  It was hard not to feel a teeny bit smug.

That smugness only increased when William Martin took both of her hands in his and leaned down to give her a brief kiss on the cheek.  “Felicity!” he said warmly, “I’m so pleased you could make it.” More heads turned in their direction along with a few curious stares.  Clearly, he didn’t greet everyone this way.

“Thank you,” she replied with equal warmth. “I’m delighted to be here.  And I’d like to introduce my friend, Vincent Keller.  Vincent is an ER doctor and knows first-hand how important this benefit is to the local hospitals.”

Martin turned to study Vincent.  “It’s nice to meet you,” he said pleasantly, but with a slightly puzzled expression.  “Didn’t I read about you somewhere?  You served in the army and were presumed dead for several years?  You’re some kind of war hero?”

Vincent shrugged.  “Yes, I suppose that’s me,” he replied modestly.  “But that’s ancient history.  Now I’m just a doctor who wants to see the hospitals get what they need to serve the people of New York. Your benefit is a huge part of that.  I hope you don’t mind if I talk to some of your guests and remind them how much their support is appreciated.”

Martin smiled. “Not at all,” he said cordially.  “It will be good for all of us to forget about the glitz,” he gestured vaguely about the elegant room, “and remember the real reason we’re here tonight.”  His smile transitioned into more of a bemused grin – or at least it appeared that way to Felicity.  “In fact, I see Marjorie Headley-Gardner coming our way right now.  I’m sure _she’ll_ be delighted to discuss the local hospitals in more detail with you,” he added dryly to Vincent.

Felicity and Vincent both turned to see a tall, slender woman with a tiny waist but surprisingly ample breasts approaching them.  Her blue gown was elegant, although it left little to the imagination, and her bare shoulders and arms were toned and tanned.  She was somewhere around forty, Felicity thought, although it was tough to be certain because her face was impossibly smooth and her lips unusually full.  The large sapphire that hung around her neck was probably the most genuine thing about her.   Felicity guessed the rest to be the handiwork of a skilled cosmetic surgeon and a personal trainer.

“Headley-Gardner,” she said in a low voice to Vincent.  “She hyphenates.  I’m never sure what to think about a woman who hyphenates.  Is she hanging onto two identities?  Is she afraid to commit?  What happens if she has a daughter who wants to hyphenate too?  Does her daughter become a Headley-Gardner-Smith, or whatever her husband’s name is?  And what happens if you keep hyphenating over a few generations?  The name will never fit on any standard forms.”

Vincent glanced down at her and grinned.  “Maybe we’ll find out,” he replied softly.  “Here she is.”

Marjorie Headley-Gardner joined the three of them…in theory.   In reality, she never took her eyes off of Vincent.  Her gaze traveled over his body in a long, assessing look before she at last turned toward their host.   

Martin took the hint.  “Marjorie,” he said heartily, “I’d like to introduce you to Felicity Smoak and Vincent Keller.  Felicity’s visiting from the west coast, but Vincent is an ER physician right here in New York City.  He’s helping us all remember the reason for the benefit tonight.”

The hyphenated Mrs. Headley-Gardner smiled, exposing a set of perfect, white teeth.  Felicity noted that her eyes didn’t crinkle and her brows didn’t move.  Her Botox injections must have been very recent.

 “What a coincidence,” Marjorie replied, never once acknowledging at Felicity.  “I was just discussing with some of our ladies how nice it would be to learn more about the needs of our hospitals, and now we’ve got a physician right here who can tell us.”  She reached out and took Vincent’s free arm (Felicity was pretty sure she was testing the size of his bicep), tugging on it until he was forced to step closer to her and away from Felicity.  “Perhaps you won’t mind, Dr. Keller, telling me more about the state of our emergency rooms over a glass of champagne.  I’m sure it will be most enlightening.”  She clasped Vincent’s elbow with the tenacity of a grappling hook.

Vincent glanced at Felicity with one eyebrow raised.  _Well, I suppose I asked for this_ , his face seemed to say.  She gave him a minute shrug in return, in which she tried to convey, _better you than me, buddy_.  He smiled.

“Mrs. Headley-Gardner,” he said to the woman, “I’d be happy to answer any of your questions.”

“Please call me Marjorie.”

“Marjorie,” he amended.

“Let’s get that champagne first.  I think I see a waiter somewhere over in that direction.”  And without a word to Felicity, she pulled on Vincent’s arm, towing him determinedly across the room.

William Martin watched them for a few seconds before turning back to Felicity.  “I think I owe your friend one,” he said dryly.  “Usually I spend half my time at the benefit trying to dodge Marjorie but it looks like she’s found a new target for the evening. It’s too bad she’s not with her first husband,” he added.  “He’s the CEO of a security software company, doing some interesting work in SSL decryption and malware detection.  He would have been a good person for you to meet.  Her current husband, Roland Gardner, is around here somewhere.  He’s a venture capitalist.   Smart enough guy, but no appreciation for the sciences.”

Felicity nodded, saying nothing.  She secretly wondered how smart Mr. Gardner could really be if he’d married Marjorie the Piranha.  It hardly seemed like a recipe for connubial bliss.  Still, even intelligent men could be idiots when it came to women.  Look at Oliver and Helena Bertinelli.

“It’s still a little early, but there are already a few people here that you might want to talk with,” Martin broke into her thoughts.  “Let’s you and I get some champagne ourselves and I’ll make the introductions.”  Without waiting for her response, he placed his hand lightly on her back and steered her toward a group of men talking over in one corner.

And for the next half hour, Felicity had the chance to meet a number of the local giants in the tech industry.  She shook hands with the CEOs of firewall, processor and geo-tracking companies, and received a paternal kiss from one older man who had started his own spyware protection business.  To her surprise, several of them recognized her name and knew she had gone to work for QC.  As the talk spiraled from the usual, bland introductions into technology, she found herself easily able to contribute to the discussion and could see the CEOs’ eyes spark with interest.  She had no doubt that she could secure job offers from most of them…if she wished.

William Martin beamed with pride as if she were his daughter.   When one of the CEOs asked him about his son, he shrugged briefly and replied, “Jeff’s not here tonight.  He’s over at a friend’s for the evening.”  Upon further inquiry he added, “Jeff’s still figuring out what he wants to do with his life.  He’s clearly not into computing.  For a while I thought his interest might lie in biology or chemistry.  He set up some kind of lab in the basement and was spending hours down there, but like all of his efforts, it appears to be tinkering and not a true vocation.”   His tone clearly said he didn’t want to discuss his son further.  The CEO took the hint and turned the conversation back to the latest developments in quantum computing.

Felicity was enjoying the tech talk so much that she almost forgot the real reason for attending the benefit. The large, elegantly lit room, the crystal glasses filled with wine and the music from the band were all virtually ignored as she listened to the men.  It was only when Catherine’s voice came over the small transmitter in her ear that she recalled her mission.

“Felicity,” Catherine sounded like she was suppressing the urge to laugh.  “I think you need to go rescue Vincent.”

Felicity put her hand up to her ear and frowned.

Tess didn’t even try to suppress; she just laughed.   “Yeah,” she added, “Marjorie Headley – whatever-her-name-is has really got her claws into him.”

Surrounded by the CEOs, Felicity couldn’t respond out loud.   She did, however, risk a subtle glance to the opposite corner and immediately saw what Cat and Tess were talking about.  Marjorie the Piranha had moved her hand from Vincent’s arm to his waist, and was slowly edging it closer to his backside.  A few inches more and she’d just about be holding his left butt cheek.  Vincent kept shifting his weight and moving sideways in an effort to get away, but Marjorie would shift too and her hand would quickly find the target again.  Vincent’s face had taken on a slightly desperate expression.   Cat was right; he needed help.  As much as she was enjoying chatting with the CEOs, it was time for Felicity to excuse herself.

“Gentlemen,” she said to them, interrupting their debate on the risks of phishing in the workplace, “it’s been such a pleasure talking with you.  I’m sure you have other folks you’d like to speak with tonight and I don’t want to monopolize your time.  I hope we have a chance to talk again, however.”

They smiled and nodded at her, and a few of them thrust business cards in her direction.  After a couple of final handshakes, she headed toward Vincent’s corner muttering softly, “Any ideas?  Mrs. Headley-Gardner looks pretty determined.”  Fortunately, between the waiters circulating with trays of fancy hors d’oeuvres and the clusters of people chatting in glitzy spendor, no one seemed to notice her talking to herself.

“You could try the old ‘spill the drink on her dress’ trick,” Tess volunteered.

“No, don’t do that,” Cat countered.  “She might ask Vincent to help her sponge it clean.”

“How about telling her that her husband is looking for her?” Felicity suggested.

“No,” Tess replied.  “I checked on her husband.  He’s hiding down the hall, playing pool with some of the other men.  It looks like they all dodge their wives regularly at these things.  She’ll know you made that one up.”

“I supposed tackling her is out of the question.”  Cat was back to sounding like she wanted to laugh.

“Risky,” Tess responded.  “Marjorie’s breast implants look pretty firm.  I think Felicity would just bounce off.”

Felicity was treated to the sound of both women snickering in her earpiece.  “This isn’t helping,” she said shortly.

“Sorry,” Tess apologized, although it didn’t sound terribly sincere. 

Her two cohorts fell silent.  Felicity was a few yards away from Vincent and The Piranha with no idea what to say when Catherine chimed in suddenly, “Ask him to dance.”

“What?”

“Ask him to dance.  Remind Vincent that he promised you a dance,” she repeated. 

Felicity frowned.  “But he didn’t. We never talked about it.   And maybe he doesn’t want to dance.”

Catherine laughed, “Look at his face.  Believe me, he’ll want to dance.”

She had a point.  Vincent looked as if he’d jump from an airplane without a parachute to escape Marjorie, let alone hit the dance floor.  Catching Felicity’s eye, his expression clearly said, _get over here, now!_   She recalled that he had his own earpiece and could hear the entire discussion she’d just had with Cat and Tess. There was no doubt that he was on board with the whole _remind me about the dance_ plan.  She smiled.

Arriving next to him, Felicity stepped close to his side (the one _not_ occupied by The Piranha and her wandering hand) and took a firm grip on his forearm.  “Vincent,” she said warmly, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I came over to claim the dance you promised me.  The band sounds great.”  Looking up at Marjorie she added, “I hope you don’t mind.  This is kind of a special night for us.  It’s our…” she struggled to think of something, “fourth anniversary.”  Kind of true.  It had been four days since she’d met him. 

It was apparent that Marjorie _did_ mind, although her Botox -restricted facial movement prevented her from glowering too badly at Felicity.  She was reduced to arranging her face into a cold, wide-eyed stare. 

Vincent’s relief was palpable.  “Of course, Felicity,” he said with a broad smile.  “I could never forget our dance.”  Glancing at Marjorie and doing his best to sound apologetic he added, “I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere.  It’s been a pleasure speaking with you Mrs. Headley-Gar...Marjorie.  Once again, thank you for your generous support of our hospitals.  You’re doing a good thing for our city.”

Marjorie retained her grip on the back of Vincent’s jacket.  For a second Felicity thought there was going to be a tug of war with Vincent in the middle, but perhaps The Piranha realized that she might look a little desperate.   The woman reluctantly let go, baring her teeth in what passed for her as a smile.  “It was a pleasure meeting you as well, Dr. Keller,” she replied.  After a brief pause she added, “When you’re ready for more adult company,” she glanced at Felicity dismissively, “you know where to find me.”

Vincent didn’t respond.  He just smiled and gripped Felicity’s hand, leading her to the dance floor.

* * *

 

 “Get ready, Felicity.  I’m going to dip you.”

Diggle glanced at Oliver.  It was a shame they weren’t back in the foundry because he was pretty sure his friend needed to hit a dummy right about now.  It was a tough evening for Oliver all around.  First, he’d been excluded from the mission and forced to listen to it over the comms from a van a couple of blocks away.  Waiting while someone else acted had to be more stressful for Oliver than going into battle was for most people.  Second, he’d had to listen to Felicity’s pseudo-job interview with the technology movers and shakers and realize that she had at least a dozen career opportunities waiting for her far away from Starling City.  It was sharp reminder that she could have a fulfilling life outside of Team Arrow.  And lastly, he was being treated to Vincent Keller’s version of _Dirty Dancing_ as the doctor and Felicity laughed their way through a number of dances.  If the band started playing _Hungry Eyes_ , Digg was afraid Oliver’s head might explode. 

When Felicity giggled for at least the tenth time, it got to be too much.  Oliver reached past J.T. to flip a switch on the console and speak into his comm link.  “Isn’t it time for you guys to be searching Martin’s room?” he snapped.  “You’ve been at the benefit for over an hour.  This is about finding your attacker, Felicity.  It isn’t supposed to be about having fun.”

His last statement sounded more than a little petulant, and Digg was pretty sure Oliver recognized it.  It was too late to take back the words, however; they hung out there for a few beats, with only music audible on the comms.   Finally, it was Tess who responded calmly, “Up until this point, there really weren’t enough people here for Felicity and Vincent to disappear unnoticed.  The party’s in full swing now, though, so I think it’s safe for them to leave for twenty minutes.  Cat and I will keep an eye out.”

“Right,” Felicity’s voice suddenly sounded businesslike, all trace of the giggles gone.  “Vincent, are you ready?”

“Yup. I’ve got your back.”

“Good.  Let’s go.”

Oliver looked strangely relieved.

* * *

 

Jeffrey Martin had an incredibly boring bedroom. 

Situated on a corner of the second floor, the room had all kinds of possibilities.  There was a large, walk-in closet that Felicity would have killed for and beautiful wooden shelves built into one of the walls.  The shelves could have housed all kinds of books and mementos, but instead stood largely empty.   Felicity figured the Martin’s brownstone had to be close to 150 years old and Jeff’s bedroom reeked of elegance from an era when homes were individually built with care and love.  The walls were real plaster and cried out for black and white photographs or original art to be hanging from them.  The hardwood floor had an intricate pattern of darker and lighter woods running through it.

Martin, however, took advantage of none of that.    

The closet, nearly the size of Felicity’s entire bedroom back in Starling, was mostly vacant.  There were a few hangers with jeans, shirts and hoodies hanging from them, and a pinstripe suit was stuck in the back.  Judging by the quantity of dust on the suit, Jeff Martin didn’t dress up very often.   The limited content on the wooden shelves included a few magazines, several textbooks from college, and a game console.   There were no photographs, no souvenirs; the room was about as impersonal as you could get.  In addition to the closet, there was a chest of drawers and a desk.   Felicity could see no other possibilities for hiding places.

She shrugged at Vincent.  “Well, unless there’s a secret panel somewhere, searching this room shouldn’t take very long.”

He nodded in agreement.  “I’ll keep watch and let you know if anyone’s coming.”  He positioned himself by doorway and gazed down the hall.

Felicity quickly pulled open the desk drawers, one by one.  Apart from the usual office supplies – pencils, pens, paper clips -- she found nothing; not even a flash drive or DVDs.  There were no notebooks with cryptic writing, and no keys or burner phones.  She did find a couple of pictures of his older brother stuffed into an envelope and wondered briefly why they weren’t framed and on display.   They were the only thing of a personal nature she could see. 

The dresser held underwear, socks and tee shirts, but nothing else of interest.   Apparently Jeff favored briefs. 

That left the computer on top of the desk.  She turned it on, expecting to be prompted for some kind of password.  Instead, she was taken right to the desktop, with the various application icons beaming at her cheerfully.  All his files were easily accessible in folders and she decided that Jeff was either incredibly clever or incredibly naïve.  If he really was lacking in computing skills as his father thought, then there was nothing else to be found.  If, on the other hand, he knew how to bury stuff, he’d done a very good job of it and it would take more than twenty minutes for her to find it.  She pulled a flash drive out of her purse and made copies of the files and his internet browsing history for examination later, but had a feeling they weren’t going to tell her much.  She shut the machine back down.

“That’s it,” she said to Vincent as she joined him at the doorway.  “I didn’t find a damn thing.  It’s like the guy barely lives here.”

Vincent took a look around the room and shook his head.  “Well, we tried,” he said shortly.  “And at least we didn’t get caught.”  He took her elbow and began to guide her back down the hallway.

“Guys?” Cat’s voice came through crisply on the comms. 

“Yes?”  Vincent and Felicity answered simultaneously.

“Tess and I are going to have to sign off this frequency and get on the line with the police for a little while.  The mayor showed up at the benefit about fifteen minutes ago and some guy is harassing him.  I don’t think it’s a big deal…probably just too much to drink…but it’s escalating, and we’re going to have to handle it.”

Felicity sighed.  “It’s not a problem.  We’re done on the second floor and headed back down anyway.  I copied Jeff’s files onto a flash drive.  We can look at them later tonight.” 

“Okay.  Marjorie what’s-her-name is still here, so you may want to hit the dance floor again.”

Felicity laughed.  “Will do.  Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

As she and Vincent reached the stairs, Felicity suddenly had the feeling that she was forgetting something.  She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she was pretty sure it was related to Jeff Martin and might be relevant to their mission.   When they arrived on the first floor and started walking back to the party, she figured it out.  She stopped abruptly and tugged on Vincent’s arm, forcing him to stop too.

“There’s one other place we can look,” she said urgently.

Vincent said nothing, just raised his eyebrows at her and waited.

“William Martin said something to one of the CEOs about Jeff tinkering around in a homemade lab,” she said.   “That’s got to be worth checking out.  There was nothing in his room – maybe the lab is where he keeps anything of importance.”  She began retracing their steps down the first floor hallway, opening doors as she went.  The fourth door revealed the steps to the basement.

“Here.”  She pointed to the stairs.

“Right,” Vincent replied.   He took a brief look around but no one was nearby.  “Let’s go,” he said softly.

They headed down the steps.   Felicity usually didn’t mind being underground – after working in the foundry for the last couple of years it almost seemed natural – but this basement was definitely on the creepy side.  The walls were dim, grey cement and the lighting felt weak.  There were generous quantities of cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and a thick layer of dust covering the storage bins and old furniture kept down there.  The basement was large, covering the full size of the house, but the shelving and other items turned what could have been open space into a maze of irregular corridors.  If this was where Jeffrey was spending much of his time, it was no wonder he was a little on the peculiar side.

As they moved carefully through the storage bins Felicity thought she spied what might serve as Jeff’s lab.  She was about to point it out to Vincent when she felt him stiffen.  Before she could ask, he said abruptly, “We gotta get out of here.”

“What?”

“We’re not alone.”  And without explaining further, he physically turned Felicity around and began pushing her back to the stairs.  Reluctant to leave without completing the investigation but attuned to Vincent’s urgency, she began to move.

It was too late.

There was a low growl and a man -- the one with the claws and the glowing eyes – stepped out from behind some shelving to block their path.   Standing this close to him, Felicity could see the muscles rippling under his shirt.  She looked frantically for a second set of stairs, but with the dim light and various boxes stacked floor to ceiling, she couldn’t see any.  The man – or whatever he was -- was advancing on them slowly and Vincent stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body.  He began speaking softly.  “You don’t want to do this,” he said in a measured voice.  “You need to get control.  Try to remember who you are, try to find yourself.”

His words had no effect.  If anything, the guy looked angrier.  He growled again, louder this time.  Felicity had the sinking feeling that they weren’t going to make it out of the basement alive.  She felt sick, not so much for herself, but for involving Vincent, for getting him killed.  She thought about Catherine and how much the two of them loved each other, and hated the idea that she was the reason that Catherine might be left with only a memory of that love.  She tried to step around Vincent, to distract the creature, but Vincent pushed her firmly back behind him.

And then Oliver’s voice was in her ear.  “Felicity?  Felicity, talk to me.  Where are you? What’s going on?”

“Oliver? We’re…”

Vincent turned around quickly and put his finger to her lips.  “Shhhh,” he ordered, cutting off her response.

She stared at him in confusion.  “What are you…?”

“Felicity,” Vincent’s honest brown eyes looked deeply into hers as he gripped her upper arms.  “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” There was no other answer.

“Good.”  He smiled weakly.  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to keep the next few minutes to ourselves.”

And reaching out, he gently removed the transmitter from her ear and then the one from his own.  Dropping them on the floor, he crushed them under his foot. 

He turned to face the creature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've said so in a while, so I really want to thank folks for continuing to read and comment on this story. It's no exaggeration to say that the feedback keeps me going. Many of the comments provoke new scenes and ideas.
> 
> For anyone who hasn't seen the original (and classic IMHO) movie "Dirty Dancing," there are some great clips of the "Hungry Eyes" scene on Youtube.


	13. Chapter 13

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to keep the next few minutes to ourselves.”

Then a crackle of static.

Then silence.

Oliver felt the knot in his stomach tighten.  He told himself not to overreact.  He told himself there had to be a logical explanation.  That was Keller’s voice, and Keller had no reason to put either himself or Felicity in danger.   Keller was Diggle’s friend from the army and a standup guy.  Diggle had trusted him with his life when they were in Afghanistan.  He’d trusted him with _Felicity’s_ life now.  Something stupid had happened to disrupt the transmission that they were all going to laugh about later – Keller had managed to flip their comms to the wrong frequency or Felicity had tried to fix her hair and accidentally knocked her earpiece out.  Everything would be fine.   

But then the silence extended to three minutes… and then five, and a feeling of panic began to set in.   He looked over at Digg and saw a deep furrow in the man’s brow.  The fact that Diggle was _not_ making an effort to reassure him was more worrying than anything.

“Felicity!” Oliver said, for what had to be the twentieth time. 

Nothing.

“Catherine…Tess,” Digg tried. 

Still nothing. 

“Are the comms down?”  Oliver barked at J.T.

J.T. looked at the console.  “No, I don’t think so,” he said slowly.  “Cat and Tess are still on the other frequency with the police.”

“Can you get Keller and Felicity back?”

“I’m trying.”

Oliver barely kept himself from shouting _try harder_.  He was ready to jump out of his skin.  Unlike the foundry, the confined space of the van gave him no room to pace and he could feel his anxiety building.  Thinking over the last seconds of the transmission, he was pretty damned sure he’d heard a growl right before the comms cut out.   The same growl they’d heard on the street yesterday when that… _thing_ …had attacked.  Wherever Felicity and Keller were, he didn’t think they could last long without help.  He needed to find Felicity… _now_!

He turned to J.T.  “Drive to the Martin’s house,” he ordered.  “We gotta get in there.”  He said it the same way he would have said it in the foundry, as if this were an Arrow mission and he was in charge.  He said it expecting instant action. 

He didn’t get it.  J.T. looked at him strangely – almost _furtively_ – and didn’t move.

“What are you waiting for?” Oliver said impatiently.  “We lost the transmission.  Something’s wrong.”

“I’m not sure why we lost the transmission,” J.T. said slowly, “but whatever happened, I think we should let Cat and Tess handle it.”

Oliver stared at him.  “Cat and Tess?” he repeated.  “They’re on another frequency.  They don’t know what’s going on; they didn’t hear any of what just happened.”

J.T. eyed him cautiously.  “What exactly do you think _you_ heard?” he asked.

Oliver felt his insides begin to boil.  Why was J.T. reacting so casually to this? “ _Think_ I heard?  I heard a fucking growl, that’s what I _know_ I heard.  And now nothing.”  He looked toward Diggle to see if Digg was wearing his _Oliver’s out of line_ face.  He wasn’t -- which was enough for Oliver to keep going.  He turned back to J.T.  “That… _thing_ …is near Felicity.   I heard it.  Digg heard it.  And you probably heard it too, if you’d just admit it.  And now her comm is dead.   So drive the damned van to the house so we can get in there.”

J.T. shook his head.  “The police have the street blocked – unless you have an invitation, no cars can get near the house.”

Oliver stared at him in disbelief.   Keller was supposed to be J.T.’s best friend.  The doctor was in the same danger as Felicity and yet J.T. seemed to be trying to discourage any kind of rescue attempt.  It didn’t make sense, unless… 

Oliver thought about Keller’s last words before the comms had gone dead.  He’d said _we’ll have to keep the next few minutes to ourselves_.  With a sinking feeling, Oliver realized that _Keller_ had killed the transmission…deliberately.  He was hiding something.  And Felicity’s life could be hanging on that something. Oliver was pretty damn sure that, whatever it was, J.T. was trying to hide it, too.

“What’s Keller doing?” he snapped at J.T.

J.T. gave him a puzzled frown.  “Huh?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t understand.”

Oliver got out of his seat and crouched in front of J.T., staring him in the eye, crowding his space.  “Your friend, Vincent Keller, just said _we’ll have to keep the next few minutes to ourselves_ , and then took himself _and_ Felicity off the comms.   What the fuck is he doing?”  The last sentence was a shout.  J.T. recoiled in his seat.

“Oliver…” Digg began.

“No, Digg.  Keller is up to something and, whatever it is, Felicity’s in the middle of it.  And I’m pretty sure J.T. here knows what it might be.”

J.T. shook his head.  “Really,” he said nervously, “I don’t.  And I don’t think Vincent’s up to anything. The comms just failed.  It happens.”  Oliver might be intimidating, but evidently not enough to make J.T. back down.

There was a long pause while the three of them stared at each other.

“Fine,” Oliver said shortly.  “I’ll go on foot.”  He looked at Diggle.  “You coming?”

Digg nodded.  “I still trust Vincent, but I agree that something doesn’t feel right.”

 The two of them got out of the van and started jogging toward the house.    Oliver was surprised when J.T. caught up to them.  Either he was nervous for Keller after all, or he was hoping to do damage control.  Breathing heavily, J.T. said, “I want to go on record as saying this is a bad idea.”

 Oliver shrugged and kept jogging.

* * *

 

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to keep the next few minutes to ourselves.”

Felicity stared at Vincent as he crushed their earpieces under his foot.  For a second her heart sank and a feeling of betrayal overwhelmed her.  Vincent was cutting off their support – she could think of no reason other than he was somehow in league with this…creature.  But then Vincent turned to face the snarling menace, keeping himself solidly between herself and the threat.   His fists clenched.   And even though she couldn’t understand why he’d shut off communications, she knew in her heart that he was trying to protect her.  She just wished there were something she could do to help.  Vincent’s effort, while brave, also seemed futile.  The guy was every bit as powerful as a Mirakuru soldier, and no matter how good a fighter Vincent was he ultimately didn’t stand a chance.

The creature growled again.

Something growled back.

Felicity looked frantically around.  Was this going to be a repeat of yesterday morning, with a second man-creature coming to their rescue?  She couldn’t see another one.

More growls were exchanged. 

The creature stopped looking at Felicity and focused entirely on Vincent.  To her surprise, the thing looked almost cautious, as if recognizing a legitimate threat.  She followed its gaze down to Vincent’s hands and saw with horror that the doctor’s fingernails were morphing into claws.  Vincent’s hands clenched and straightened and became something other than human, and Felicity realized that the answering snarls she’d heard a minute ago had come from him. _Vincent_ was transforming; he was becoming exactly the same as the creature.  She cringed as he turned to look at her with his handsome features distorted and his kind, brown eyes changed into a fierce, glowing yellow. 

And yet…as she stared at his angry eyes and snarling upper lip, she…somehow…still saw Vincent.  She wasn’t sure what thoughts, if any, were running through his head, or even if he could think rationally at all in this state.  The animal within him certainly seemed to be taking over.  But for some reason she hoped…she _believed_ … that the heart beating in his chest, the essence that _was_ Vincent, hadn’t changed.  He was a good man and whatever he might be turning into now was good at the core as well.  And, strangely enough, it gave her confidence because it meant that they had a fighting chance.  Vincent the man couldn’t take on the creature.  But this Vincent…he looked every bit as powerful and fast as his opponent.  She met his eyes and nodded.  

The fight began.

Things happened so quickly that for a few minutes Felicity had no idea who was winning, if anyone.  Bodies moved in a blur accompanied by objects falling or breaking.  The two man-creatures sprung in the air as if propelled and slashed each other viciously. It was terrifying…and yet she couldn’t look away.  She crouched behind a set of shelves and peered around them, trying to make herself small and invisible, hoping to evade notice.  It wasn’t necessary.  Locked in their battle, the two creatures paid her no attention. 

After what felt like an eternity but was probably no more than five minutes, one of the creatures flew through the air and struck a concrete wall hard.  He crashed to the floor and lay still.  The other one stared at him for a minute, then turned and began walking toward her. 

He was wearing a tux. 

Felicity breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out from behind the shelves.  As Vincent approached her, she watched him transform in mid-stride back to the handsome doctor with the intelligent face and mild eyes.  It was so surreal that for a few seconds she wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing.  But Vincent sported a couple of scratches on his face and the body of the creature lay motionless on the floor a few yards away.  It had been real.

“You okay?”  Vincent asked.

She nodded.  “Fine.  What about you?”

“I’m good.” 

He was staring at her guardedly and she guessed that he was gauging her reaction.  After what had just happened, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say.   _I’m sorry you’re a creature, too, but thank you for saving my life?_ She decided to avoid the subject for the moment. 

“What about him?”  She gestured to the unconscious creature on the floor.  To her amazement, he was also transforming into a man, just as Vincent had a few seconds ago.  The process seemed to be taking longer and she couldn’t help gawking at him, fascinated to see the change take place.  Whatever did this, it sure as hell wasn’t Mirakuru.  The change must be happening on a cellular level, she thought, driven by something within. 

After a minute, a young-ish man emerged, wearing jeans and a dark hoodie.  She gasped.

“That doesn’t look like Jeff Martin,” Vincent said slowly.

“No, it doesn’t.” Felicity agreed. 

“But you recognize him.”

She nodded.  “I do. It’s his older brother, Billy.”

Vincent frowned.  “The guy who went missing and is supposed to be dead?”

“The same.”

“Oh.”

Billy Martin’s eyelids fluttered and slowly opened.  He pushed himself into a sitting position, his back against the basement wall, and stared groggily at Vincent and Felicity.  He tentatively felt the back of his head and grimaced.  “Damn, that hurts.”  He studied Vincent for a long moment.  “It’s been a while since I lost a fight.”

To Felicity’s surprise, Vincent grinned.  “I’ll bet.”

“Was it you the last two times I tried to take her?” Martin asked Vincent, nodding toward Felicity.

“Yup.”

“So there are two of us?”

Vincent gave something between a laugh and a snort.  “There are a lot more than two, believe me.  Although,” he sobered quickly, “I don’t know how many are still living.  Muirfield’s been trying to clean up their mistakes for years.”

“Muirfield?”

“The people who made us what we are…Beasts.”

Billy Martin frowned.  “Beasts.  I suppose that’s as good a word as any.”  He continued to examine Vincent.  “How’d they get you?”

“The army.  They asked for volunteers for a special program…and I volunteered.”  After a moment Vincent added dryly, “We thought the injections we were getting were nutritional supplements.  And you?”

“Spring break in Mexico.  Went for a late night walk on the beach and got grabbed.  Spent a couple of years as someone’s lab rat.”  Martin shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the memory.  “I don’t think they were after _me_ in particular – I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  One minute I’m a doofus college senior and the next…”   His voice trailed off and he looked down at his hands.  “Can you control it?” he asked Vincent suddenly.  His face was a mixture of curiosity and hope.

“Yes,” Vincent replied.  “Well, mostly anyway.  How about you?”

Martin shook his head sadly.  “Not at all.  I never know what’s going to trigger the change.  A sneeze, burning my mouth on hot pizza, an annoying cell phone conversation on the train…anything.  It’s why I haven’t let anyone know I’m alive.  Well…anyone besides my brother, that is.  Too risky.”  He settled back against the wall and turned his gaze toward Felicity.  “You’re a hard woman to kidnap,” he said matter-of-factly.  “You have some unusual friends.”

Felicity thought about her five days in New York and glanced over at Vincent.  “Yes.  I’m lucky that way, I guess.”  Vincent smiled.

Martin looked almost apologetic.  “We didn’t want to hurt you, you know.”

Felicity checked her laugh.  There were so many ways to reply to that, including telling him that they had a damned funny way of showing it.  Instead, she asked, “Why did you want me in the first place?”

Martin felt the back of his head again and stretched his legs out stiffly.  Clearly feeling the effects of the fight, he slowly moved from sitting to standing, keeping one hand against the wall for balance.  “My brother said our father was always talking about you,” he replied. “How brilliant you are, how you can find just about anything with a computer.”  He smiled sadly at her. “I want to find the people who did this to me,” he gestured at himself, “and get them to fix it.  Jeff and I have been trying for years but we’re not getting anywhere.   So when you showed up in New York for the hacking convention it seemed like fate.   I mean, who better to help?  Besides being a great hacker, everyone kept talking about your connections with the intelligence agencies.  We figured you’d have access to all kinds of information we couldn’t get.  And when you started hanging around with the biochem professor, it got even better still – it was like a twofer.”

Vincent frowned.  “You wanted to take J.T., too?”

Martin shrugged.  “Jeff found that paper he wrote on cross-species DNA.   I’m not a biologist, but I’m pretty sure the people who took me fucked around with my DNA.  If Felicity couldn’t track down the people who experimented on me, maybe Dr. Forbes could come up with a cure.”

Vincent studied Billy Martin for a moment.  “If only it were that easy,” he said shortly.

“He’s been trying to cure you?”

Vincent nodded slowly, “For over a decade.”

Martin sighed and kicked the wall gently with his toe.  “Damn,” he said sadly.

“Yeah, it sucks.”

Felicity felt some of her tension ease.  All this drama, she thought, from a guy who just wanted help.  It seemed silly and a waste of time.  She looked at Billy Martin and said softly, “Did you ever think of just _asking_ me instead of trying to kidnap me?  Or better yet, asking your father?  He’s brilliant, too.”

Martin laughed cynically.  “You’ve met my father.  He can barely tolerate my brother for not being as smart as he is.  Can you imagine how he’d react if he knew he had a son who is a…” he glanced at Vincent, “Beast?  Is that the official term?”  He shook his head.  “No, my father doesn’t even know I’m alive and I’d like to keep it that way, at least for now.  And as for you, Felicity, I had no idea how _you’d_ react.  If I told you why I needed help, would you have even believed me?”

“I might have.  I have a fair amount of experience with weird.”

Martin chuckled and glanced between her and Vincent.  “Yeah, I can see that.”  He straightened up and his face hardened a little.  “Well, it’s been nice talking with you both.  It’s good to know I’m not the only…Beast…in the world.  Still, I think it’s time for me to get out of here.  I can sneak out while the party’s in full swing but it will be tough later on.” He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head.  “I suppose you can try telling someone about me,” he added, “but I don’t think they’re going to believe you.   After all, I’ve been dead for six years.  And unless you’re willing to demonstrate the whole Beast thing,” he nodded at Vincent, “which I doubt, you have no good explanation for why I’ve kept myself hidden.”  He glanced up the stairs. “I hope you don’t mind if I give myself a head start. I can’t risk you following me.”  And with a small smile at both of them, he turned and ran quickly up the steps.  Felicity heard the sharp _click_ of the lock in the basement door as he left.  It happened so quickly that she and Vincent had no recourse except to look at each other, stunned.

After a short pause, she asked Vincent, “Can you break down the door?”

Vincent closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.  “I suppose I could,” he sighed, “but I’d have to Beast-out to do it, and I really don’t want to do that at the Martin’s hospital benefit.  There’s a good chance someone will see me.”

So they were locked in the basement.  Peachy.  Felicity told herself to think rationally.  The comms might be down, but she still had her cell phone in her purse.  She pulled it out.  _No Service_.  Damn.

She smiled wryly at Vincent.  “Well, I guess we’re stuck down here.”

“Until someone finds us, apparently -- yes.”

Felicity wondered how long that might take.  It was kind of chilly and dank.  Now that the threat was over, she also found herself a little hungry.  She’d been so busy talking to the CEOs and then rescuing Vincent from Marjorie the Piranha that she’d hadn’t tried any of the fancy hors d’oeuvres that had been circulating upstairs.

“There is a silver lining,” Vincent said, rousing her from her thoughts.

There was?  She looked at Vincent and raised her eyebrows.

“William Martin has a pretty decent wine cellar.”  He pointed to a corner of the basement.

She looked at the racks of bottles placed against the wall.  Fortunately, they seemed to have survived the Beast-fight.   If they really had nothing to do but wait…

She smiled at Vincent.  “Let’s check it out.”

* * *

 

Diggle wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see when they got to the Martin’s house, but it definitely wasn’t this.  Given the growls he thought he’d heard over the comms, he’d assumed that the party would be breaking up...quickly.  If that creature were loose in the Martin’s house, there would screams, confusion, people evacuating in a panic…something.

Instead, the benefit looked like business as usual.  Watching from the street just outside the police barricade, he, Oliver and J.T. could see the elegantly dressed couples arrive and leave looking glamorous and happy, and not at all in a hurry.  The valets continued delivering and parking cars, pocketing their tips and joking with each other.  Every now and then Digg could hear a few notes from the band.  Everything seemed perfectly normal.

He turned to Oliver.  “Maybe we didn’t hear a creature after all.”

Oliver’s jaw locked in the stubborn position Digg knew so well.  “I heard a growl, Digg.  I’m sure of it.”

“Then how do you explain this?” J.T. asked, gesturing toward the house.

Oliver shrugged his shoulders, clearly frustrated.  “I don’t know,” he said shortly, “but there’s only one way to find out.  We have to get in there.”

Diggle studied the brownstone.  Like most city houses, it was adjoined on either side by other dwellings.  The front had the wall and the gate that he and Felicity had passed through yesterday on their visit, and the back of the house could not be seen.  The opportunities for breaking and entering seemed slim.  He shook his head.  “It’s not going to be easy, Oliver.  We’re not on the invitation list, and there’s a ton of police outside.”  He gestured to the barricade and uniformed officers.  After a pause, he added, “And you’re not exactly dressed for the occasion.”  He said it meaning that without his hood or mask, Oliver didn’t have the benefit of anonymity.  J.T., ignorant of Oliver’s alter ego, interpreted it differently.

“That’s true,” he agreed.  “If you had a tux, you might have been able to sneak in…or at least bluff your way in.  Like that,” he pointed at Oliver’s jeans and Henley, “you don’t stand a chance.”

Oliver stared at him thoughtfully.  “Maybe.  But then Oliver Queen is known for crashing parties.  He might get a couple of strange looks, but I’m guessing he _can_ just walk through the front door in jeans and people will accept it.”  He paused.  “One of the advantages of having a reputation.”

Digg rubbed his eyes tiredly.  “And what about me, Oliver?  What’s my excuse?”

Oliver shrugged.  “Queen wouldn’t go anywhere without his bodyguard.  It makes sense for you to come, too.”   He grinned at J.T. and Diggle, suddenly seeming more at ease.  Digg understood it perfectly.  Forced into inactivity while Felicity might be in danger, Oliver was a mess.  Now that he had a plan, the man was focused and confident.

Oliver turned to J.T.  “Maybe you can see if you can raise Tess and Cat on the comms?  They should probably know what’s going on.”  He tapped Digg lightly on the shoulder.  “Let’s go, Digg.  It’s time for Oliver Queen to make an appearance.” He walked around the police barricade and began heading toward the house.

As Digg started to follow, J.T caught him by the elbow.  Gesturing toward Oliver he asked, “Does he refer to himself in the third person often?”

Diggle sighed and rolled his eyes.  “All the fucking time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, full disclosure...this is about 3/4 of the chapter that I wanted to post. However, I'm up against a huge deadline at work and writing time has been limited. Mindful that I left us with a cliffhanger, figured I'd put this out. I loved the comments on the last chapter. julialynn...as you see...I felt Felicity would react the same way you did.


	14. Chapter 14

“I’m pretty sure that’s an $800 wine.” 

Felicity pointed to a bottle, one of many in William Martin’s extensive collection.  She and Vincent were standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling wine rack in the Martin basement and Felicity was studying labels with great interest.  She looked none the worse for wear after their run-in with the Beast, now identified as Billy Martin. 

Vincent shook his head.  “What?” The situation felt surreal.  Billy Martin wasn’t the only person to have revealed himself as a Beast.   Vincent had also transformed in front of Felicity no more than twenty minutes ago, yet she remained casually next to him as if they were picking out a wine for dinner in their local supermarket.  If she was freaked out about _his_ alter-ego, she sure as hell wasn’t showing it.

“This cabernet.”  She tapped the bottle.  “It’s made by a boutique vintner in California.  He only produces 75 to 100 bottles a year.  All the oenophiles swear that drinking it is a religious experience.  I read that 2011 was a particularly good year.”

Vincent stared at her.  Logically, he knew he should be relieved that she wasn’t shrieking and screaming; still, no one had ever reacted to him Beasting-out quite like this.  Alex, his fiancée before the service, had been unable to come to terms with it and she’d been in love with him.  Catherine, accepting as she was, had taken a little time to adjust.  Felicity, on the other hand, was acting like it was all in a day’s work.  She’d even managed to use the word _oenophile_ in a sentence. Vincent made a mental note to Google it later.

He noticed a few goose bumps on her bare arms and saw her shiver slightly.  The physician in him decided that her blasé response might be attributed to shock.  It would explain a lot.

“Felicity, I’m going to check your vital signs for minute.”

She frowned at him, puzzled.  “Really Vincent, I’m o--”

“Humor me.”

He shrugged her shoulders and stepped closer to him.  “Fine.”

He put his hand on her forehead. It was dry and cool, no clamminess whatsoever.  He held two fingers against the pulse in her neck and looked at his watch.  Her heartbeat was slow and steady – so slow, in fact, that he decided she must do some kind of regular aerobic exercise.  Her pupils were dilated slightly, but then the light _was_ dim in the basement.  Her breathing was deep and regular.

She submitted to his examination with a patient grin and then said, “Really, I’m not in shock.”

“You shivered a minute ago.”

“Yeah, well it’s cool down here and I’m wearing a sleeveless gown.”

He studied her bright, intelligent face.  It was true that everything looked perfectly normal – in fact, better than normal.  She was a pretty woman to begin with, but in formal clothes with her hair up she transformed into a classic beauty.   At the moment, Felicity reminded Vincent a little of Grace Kelly in the old movies his mother used to watch on TV – fair, with flawless skin and lovely eyes.

He sighed, “Fine, you’re not in shock.”  After a few seconds he shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and handed it to her.  “Here, why don’t you wear this?  It could be a while before someone finds us.”

“Thanks.”

She slipped on the jacket.  It hung almost to her knees, and the sleeves covered her hands completely.  It made her look very young and vulnerable, and Vincent could easily understand how she might arouse Oliver Queen’s protective instincts.  Any man with a soul would see her intelligence and optimism and want to guard her, to keep her as she was.  She glanced at Vincent, and then quickly averted her gaze.  Something was making her uncomfortable.

He wondered if they were about to have the _Beast-talk_.  “What’s wrong?”

She pointed at him.  “It’s you -- the suspenders with the white dress shirt.  Do they give men a handbook that says how much women like that look?  Cause it really works, at least for some guys and definitely for you.”  She shook her head ruefully. “I swear, there were times I used to think Oliver took his tux jacket off just to torture me.”

Alright, so maybe not the _Beast-talk_.  Vincent glanced down at himself.  “Actually, Catherine’s never mentioned it,” he said dryly.  He made a second mental note, this time to ask Catherine about suspenders and dress shirts.

Felicity raised her eyebrows.  “Really?  I can’t believe she hasn’t noticed.  Maybe she hasn’t said anything but, believe me, any evening you want to get lucky, just walk in looking like that.”  She paused and added, “Not that you need help getting lucky.  I’m sure you and Catherine have a very healthy sex...”  She stopped, and a flush came over her cheeks.  “Sorry.  As you can probably tell, my brain-to-mouth filter sometimes goes on the fritz.  I keep working on it but…”  She turned abruptly back to the wine rack and resumed studying labels, clearly embarrassed.

Vincent checked his urge to laugh.   To save face for both of them he said, “You know, I’ve never had an $800 wine before.”

She shook her head and appeared relieved at the change in subject.  “Me neither.   You’d think I might have had something at one of the Queen parties, but Oliver’s mother always saved the best stuff for the family.  Of course,” she muttered thoughtfully, “it might have just been me.  Moira didn’t like me all that much.”

Vincent was tempted to ask how anyone could not like her, but instead said, “Well, I’d like to try a really expensive wine now.”

She looked at him questioningly.  “Really?  You think it’s okay?”

Vincent glanced at their surroundings.  “Yeah, I do.  I doubt William Martin ventures down in his basement very often.   If he does, he’ll notice that his son seems to have set up some kind of secret camp here.”  He pointed to a couple of chairs and a small crate overturned to serve as a table.  “I’m pretty sure Martin will figure Jeff drank it.”

She frowned.  “I’d feel kind of bad about Jeff getting blamed for something we did.  He’s already got a rocky relationship with his dad.”

Vincent shrugged.  “I don’t feel the least bit bad.  He’s tried to kidnap you twice and his brother the Beast just attacked us.  I think it’s only fair.”

After a thoughtful pause, she smiled.  “Okay, you talked me into it.  Is there a corkscrew somewhere around here?”

Vincent quickly located one, along with a couple of glasses.  In doing so, he also found assorted bags of chips, popcorn and jerky, a couple of blankets and a case of bottled water.  “It certainly looks like Jeff and Billy _have_ spent time down here – and probably found time to enjoy their dad’s wine, among other things.  This must be one of the places they get together to talk.  If Jeff gets blamed, something tells me it won’t be totally unjustified.”

And without waiting further, he slid the ultra-expensive bottle out of the rack and carefully uncorked it.  He and Felicity both stared at the wine as if expecting some kind of magical mist to emerge from the bottle, but instead it looked like every other wine that Vincent had drunk.  He poured a couple of glasses and handed one to her.

“To uncovering the mystery of Billy Martin.” He raised his glass in a toast.

She clinked hers gently against his.  “To Billy Martin.”

They slowly brought their glasses to their lips, both taking cautious sips at the same time.  Felicity held the wine in her mouth for a few seconds and then swallowed.

“Oh,” she said softly.  “Wow.  Talk about complex.  There’s about five layers of flavor going on.”  She took another sip and closed her eyes.  “That’s almost orgasmic.”

Vincent laughed.  The wine certainly was good, although he wasn’t sure that it was worth several days’ pay.  And, as enjoyable as this was, he really _did_ need to talk about the whole _Beast_ thing with Felicity.  Eventually they were going to get out of this basement and he had to know what she planned to say and do.  It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that his entire life could change depending on her actions.

“Let’s sit,” he gestured to the chairs the Martin brothers had set up.  “I think we need to talk.”

“Isn’t that what we've been doing?”

He shook his head.  “We need to talk about what you saw.”

“Ah.  About the whole _Grrr_ thing.”  She made a claw-like gesture with her hands.

“Exactly.”

“Okay.”  She lowered herself slowly into one of the chairs, careful not to spill her wine.  “How do you want to start?”

Vincent sat in the chair next to her.  “Maybe we should start with your questions.”

“Right.  My questions.”  Felicity ran one finger gently around the top of her wine glass, and then turned to him.  “You told Billy Martin that the army changed you into a Beast.  That was true?”

Vincent nodded.  “Yes.  I enlisted not long after 9/11.  My brothers were firefighters who died in the Towers and I was anxious to do something.”  He saw a fleeting look of sorrow pass over her face and continued quickly, “That’s where I originally met Digg.  I’d been in the service for about 18 months when they asked for volunteers for a special program.  They told us they had an experimental training regimen that they hoped would make us better soldiers; stronger, able to stay awake longer, stuff like that.  It involved daily injections – which they said were nutritional supplements.”  He exhaled sharply. “None of us knew that they were really modifying our DNA, inserting specific animal genomes into the human sequence.”

She frowned as she pondered his words.  “So they _wanted_ to create Beasts?”

Vincent shook his head.  “I think the army really did just want to create super-soldiers.  Muirfield, the organization that ran the program and gave us the injections, might have had a different agenda -- I don’t know for certain.  At any rate, the program was a failure.  The army certainly got soldiers who were able to perform incredible physical feats.  We could run faster than a normal human and were unbelievably strong.  Unfortunately, we were also unstable, especially when our adrenaline kicked in.  We couldn’t control ourselves, and were just as likely to kill a friend as the enemy.  Not very useful in a war.”

“So what happened?”

“Muirfield ended the program and tried to get rid of us.”

Felicity’s eyes grew large.  “You mean, kill you?”

Vincent replied matter-of-factly, “Yes – they didn’t want to leave any evidence.  I managed to get away.  At the time, I thought I was the only one who escaped, but I’ve since learned there were others.”

“Oh.”  She took a long sip of wine.  Vincent smiled to himself when she took time to savor it, in spite of their current grim conversation about Muirfield and Beasts.  She really was an unusual woman.  After a moment she said carefully, “You told Billy that J.T. has been trying to cure you.  That’s true, too?”

“Yes.”

“So J.T. knows you’re a Beast.  What about Catherine?”

“Catherine and Tess both know, along with a couple of other folks who are connected to them, like Catherine’s dad.  Other than that, I’ve tried to keep it quiet.  There are people out there who are aware of the existence of Beasts, but not that _I’m_ one – and I’d like to keep it that way.  I’m trying very hard to have a normal life.”

Felicity nodded.  Her face clearly showed that she understood the magnitude of the secret she was now privy to.   Vincent waited for her to say something about her intent to keep it, but instead she asked, “Why do you think someone took Billy Martin and changed _him_?  I mean, if Muirfield’s experiment was such a bust, why keep creating Beasts?”

Vincent shrugged.  “I can think of a number of reasons.  The first is that there’s a handful of people out there who figure that if they just keep experimenting, they’ll eventually get the DNA right – create a super-human with animal speed, strength and reflexes but without the mental and emotional instability.  So they need people as test subjects.  As Billy said, there’s a good chance he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“And the other reasons?”

Vincent sighed.  “I think there may be people, like J.T., who are trying to develop a cure.  It’s a little screwed up, I admit it, but in order to test the cure you have to create beasts.”  He paused, and then added reluctantly, “And the last reason I can think of isn’t as benign.  I think there are organizations who like Beasts exactly as we are, and want to use us.  We can get past a lot of obstacles, human or otherwise, if we transform at the right time.  We can be a powerful weapon.”

She stared at him thoughtfully.  “Yes, I can see that.”

They both paused to a take a sip of William Martin’s very expensive vintage.  Vincent hated to ask, but he really had to know what she planned to do.  Would she tell Digg and Queen?  He felt confident about Digg’s secrecy.  When it came to Queen, he didn’t have a clue.  Felicity’s decision could be the difference between packing up and making a run for it, or someday marrying Catherine and settling down in New York City.

“So, Felicity,” he said softly.  “Now that you know my secret, what do you want to do about it?”

She frowned and looked at him as if it were an odd question, as if there could only be one answer.  “Keep it, of course,” she said evenly.  She stared down at her wine glass and swirled it gently, watching the red liquid rise inside the bowl and form legs as it ran back down.  “I may not seem it,” she added with a wry smile, “but I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

“Even from Digg and Oliver?”

She nodded.  “Even from Digg and Oliver, if that’s what you wish.  It’s not my secret to tell.”

He could see she meant it.  Vincent let his breath out in relief.  He had no real proof of her ability to keep silent, of course, but her reaction to events over the last hour suggested that she might not be exaggerating her clandestine skills.  It was reassuring, and it also reminded him of a couple of questions that _he_ had for her.

“Felicity?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can I ask _you_ a question?”

“Sure.”

“I’m curious,” he said, “why you’re not freaking out more over the whole Beast thing.  No one has ever reacted so calmly, not even Catherine.  You said something to Billy Martin about having experience with weird.  Is that why?”  When she nodded, he continued, “What kind of experience?”

She pulled his jacket more tightly around herself, hesitating as she studied his face.  Vincent got the impression that she was assessing how much she could trust _him_ , just as he’d weighed his trust in her a few moments ago.  At last she said cautiously, “I’m not sure how much the Starling City news reaches the East Coast, but we’ve had an interesting couple of years.  We had a man-made earthquake take out a good chunk of the city a little over a year ago.  And I think I already told you something about the army of soldiers drugged up on Mirakuru that tried to take Starling over.  Our city seems to be a magnet for weird events.”

Vincent frowned.  “Yes, both of those are odd, I admit.  But I get the feeling there’s something more, something about you personally. How did you even know about the Mirakuru, for example? What is it about _you_ that gets you involved in these events?”

She laughed.  “I just told you how good I was at keeping secrets and now you want me to spill the beans?”

Vincent grinned.  “Which I take it means there’s beans to be spilt.  So, yes, I want to know.”  When she smiled mysteriously but said nothing, he added, “C’mon, Felicity, I showed you mine.  The least you can do is show me yours.”

She stared at her wine glass, clearly deliberating.  He noticed that the glass was almost empty and reached over with the bottle to refill it.  She gave him an ironic look, but didn’t object and raised the glass to her lips for another sip.  Finally, she said, “Okay.  I can probably tell you a little more.  But only so far as it concerns me.”

Vincent sat back eagerly and waited for her to continue.

“We have a vigilante in Starling City,” she began. “He’s been taking on the criminal element for a couple of years now.  He tried to avert the earthquake and he was the one who stopped the Mirakuru army.  No one knows who he is – he uses a disguise, and his weapon of choice is a bow and arrow.”

Vincent nodded vigorously.  “The Hood.  Yeah, we’ve heard about him.  For a while there were a lot of blogs saying that New York needs its own vigilante to take care of the city.” He saw a small smile appear on her face.  “He gets mixed reviews, though,” Vincent added.  “It sounds like the Starling police weren’t always so crazy about him – they thought The Hood might _part_ of the criminal element.”

She shook her head firmly.  “He’s not.  He does what he can to save the city.  And he prefers The Arrow to The Hood.”

“Prefers? Does that mean you’ve met him?”

Felicity hesitated, and then said, “I work with him.  That’s _my_ secret.”

Vincent felt his jaw drop a little.  This light-hearted, optimistic woman worked with the Starling City Vigilante – who was reported to be ruthless, violent and tough as nails?  He looked at her bright, honest face and asked, “Work with him how?”

“The same way you’ve seen me work this week.  I hack into systems to help him find criminals.  I follow money trails and break into encrypted laptops to find out what the bad guys are up to.   He’s not the best guy with computers, he needs a little help now and then.”

Vincent sat back in his chair, nonplussed.  This certainly explained a lot.  Apparently taking on villains really _was_ all in a day’s work for Felicity Smoak.  Talk about looks being deceiving.  “Do Digg and Oliver know?”

“They do.”

“I can’t imagine they’re too happy about it.”

She smiled a rather odd smile.  “They know it’s important to me to be doing something that matters, to help people.  They’ve been…supportive.”

“Oh.”  Another thought struck him.  “Does this mean you know who the Vigilante is?” he asked curiously.

“I do.  And I keep his secret, just as I’ll keep yours.”

“Oh.” 

Vincent drained his wine glass and reached for the bottle to refill it.  He wasn’t quite sure why, but it felt like he had something to celebrate -- probably because he was feeling more confident that Felicity wasn’t going to reveal to the world that he was a Beast.  If she’d managed to protect The Hood’s identity for two years, she could certainly keep the story of Vincent’s alter ego to herself as well.   J.T., of course, was going to freak out when he learned that she knew, but J.T. was a world-class worrier and nothing Vincent said was going to reassure him.  Catherine, he thought, would understand.  In the end, they both knew that Vincent had had no choice except to Beast-out to protect Felicity. 

He watched the blonde woman as she continued to drink her wine.  The whole secret-sharing thing had made him feel closer to her and had also made him more curious.  He thought about the support that he and Catherine provided for each other and wondered whether she had similar support in her life back home.  He didn’t like the thought of her putting herself in danger with The Hood and then going home alone – it seemed wrong, somehow.  He decided to cross a few boundaries.

“Felicity?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you another question – a personal one this time?”

She flushed.  “I suppose so,” she said slowly.  She looked at him a little nervously.

He went for it.  “What’s with you and Oliver?”

Her flush grew deeper, and she didn’t pretend to misunderstand him.  “There’s nothing with me and Oliver,” she said shortly. “We’re friends.”

He gave her a skeptical look.  “Really?  That’s all?  Because Digg’s his friend, too, and – believe me – he doesn’t look at you the same way he looks at Digg.  I get the feeling there’s a lot more going on.”

She smiled ruefully.  “Yeah -- that’s what people keep telling me this week.”

“So maybe it’s true.”

She shook her head.  “I don’t think so.  Look, I know Oliver cares about me, but I’m pretty sure it’s not in a romantic way.  We spend a lot of time together.  If he wanted it to be more, he’s had plenty of chances to do something.  And,” she added flatly, “I don’t think it’s because he’s not ready for a relationship.  He seems to find time to be with other women.  He’s not exactly celibate.”

“Maybe he’s afraid of what a relationship with _you_ might mean…that it would be the real deal.”

She stared at him.  “Is that why you were reluctant to get into a relationship with Catherine?  You were afraid that it might be the real deal?”  When he didn’t answer immediately, she continued, “Cat, Tess and I talked when we were dress shopping.  Tess said that you didn’t think a relationship was a good idea, but Catherine wouldn’t take no for an answer – she kept coming back to you even when you pushed her away.”

Vincent thought about his early days with Catherine.  He certainly hadn’t given her very much encouragement.  Thank God she hadn’t listened.  “It’s true,” he said slowly to Felicity, “I told Catherine when we first met that she should stay away.”  He looked down at his glass and chuckled softly. “I’m so grateful that she didn’t, that she kept coming back.  I can’t imagine my life without her…I really wouldn’t _have_ a life without her.”

He could tell that his words had struck some kind of chord with Felicity.  A variety of expressions flitted across her face and he guessed that she was revisiting memories of herself and Oliver.   “I don’t know,” she said at last.  “You had a reason to be worried about a relationship – the whole Beast secret.  Oliver’s got no…” she stopped herself.  “Well, I don’t know if Oliver’s got a reason for avoiding a relationship.  He’s got his own secrets, I suppose, especially after spending five years stranded on an island.  Whatever they are,” she continued shortly, “they haven’t seemed to stop him from forming attachments with other women.  If he were interested in me…well, I’ve been right in front of him the whole time. ”

Vincent shook his head.  “Felicity, I can’t tell you the reasons he’s reluctant.  Maybe Oliver’s scared.  Maybe he thinks he’s no good for you…I don’t know the man well enough to say.  The one thing I _can_ tell you is that he cares about you – and I mean _really_ cares.  A blind man could see it.”  He looked into her honest blue eyes and added gently, “And if you think you really care about him, maybe you should give him a little encouragement, just as Catherine gave _me_ encouragement.  When it comes down to relationships, we’re all cowards in the beginning.  Someone has to make the first move.”

Her eyes were very bright as she looked at him, and he wondered if they were full of tears.  After a moment, however, she shrugged slightly and turned her gaze back to her wine glass.  It was empty.

“Do you think it’s okay to open another bottle?” she asked.   

* * *

 

Oliver was surprised that William Martin didn’t have better security at his benefit.  He’d figured that he and Digg would be able to get in, but he’d assumed that he would have to resurrect the old Ollie charm to talk his way past the check points.  After all, there were a number of prominent people in attendance. 

It turned out Ollie didn’t need to make an appearance.  Instead, Oliver Queen strolled confidently through the front door with Digg at his side and no one lifted one finger to stop them.  As soon as people recognized him they either smiled eagerly or gave him a cool, bemused _why the hell is Oliver Queen here?_ look.  Oliver didn’t give a damn either way.  It had been much too long since they’d heard the growl over the comms and finding Felicity was the only thing that mattered.  He didn’t see her anywhere in the midst of the party-goers, but then he hadn’t expected to.  That would have been too much good luck. 

The host, however, spotted him and began making his way over.

William Martin was accompanied by a statuesque woman with light brown hair.  She clung possessively to his arm and Oliver could tell the instant she recognized him because her eyes lit up.  Her look was beyond eager – it was almost predatory.  William Martin, on the other hand, fell more into the _bemused_ category.  His greeting was polite, but cool in its correctness.

“Mr. Queen, I believe,” he said crisply.  “How nice to see you.  Clearly this is a spontaneous gesture on your part.”  He gestured at Oliver’s casual attire.  “I’m glad to hear the New York City hospitals are of such interest to you that you want to drop in and show your support.”  He held out his hand.

Oliver shook it, doing his best to smile through gritted teeth.  It was frustrating to take time for small talk when he was worried Felicity may have been attacked by one of those man-creatures. Offending the host, however, was not going to help.  So he replied neutrally, “Thank you for your hospitality.  I apologize for dropping in without an invitation.”  He could feel Digg shuffle nervously on his feet next to him.

“May I introduce Marjorie Headley-Gardner,” Martin continued, gesturing to the woman.  “She devotes considerable time and energy to our fund raising efforts.  We’d be lost without her.”  Oliver thought he could detect a note of irony in Martin’s tone, but the man’s face betrayed nothing.  Mrs. Headley-Gardner smiled, exposing a set of white, even teeth.  Her slim height and long hair made Oliver think of an older version of Laurel – although with a couple of fewer college degrees, he suspected, and a couple of more cup sizes.  Her bosom certainly seemed to defy gravity.

Mrs. Headley-Gardner extended her hand, taking a firm hold of Oliver’s.  “Mr. Queen,” she just about purred, “it’s such a pleasure to meet you.  I must say, your photos don’t do you justice.”  After a few seconds during which Oliver tried – unsuccessfully – to extricate his hand, she added, “I’d be happy to talk to you now about our efforts for the hospitals.  I’m sure when you hear what we’ve been able to do in New York you’ll want to try something similar in Starling.”

Oliver tried to maintain his smile.  He wondered if it was beginning to appear as phony as it felt.  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Headley-Gardner, I’d love to hear about your work.  However,” he added quickly, “I first need to find a friend who, I believe, is at this benefit.”  He turned back to Martin.  “I’m looking for Felicity Smoak.  I think she’s here tonight?”

“Felicity?” William Martin seemed surprised.  He stared sternly at Oliver before moving his gaze to Diggle.  “Of course,” he said to Digg more kindly, “you were here with her yesterday – _you’re_ a friend of hers.  I thought you looked familiar.  How are you this evening, Mr…”

“Diggle,” Digg finished for him.  “I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Martin.”  Glancing at Oliver’s anxious face, he hurriedly continued, “We’re sorry to disturb your benefit, but as Oliver says, we’re looking for Felicity.  Have you seen her?  It’s important that we speak with her.”

Martin frowned thoughtfully.  Oliver got the sense that he was considering the question only because Digg had asked.  He suspected that if Oliver Queen had crashed the party alone, Martin would have told him to take a hike.  “She was dancing with her doctor friend a little while ago,” Martin said.  He scanned the large room. “I don’t see them now, but you’re welcome to take a look around.” 

Oliver breathed out in relief.  At least they were going to be allowed to look for her without interference – that would help.  His relief disappeared, however, when Martin added, “Whatever it is you need to see her about, it had better be urgent – otherwise I’d suggest leaving them alone.  They were having a good time dancing and I wouldn’t be surprised if they went someplace to be alone.  It happens every year with a few couples at this benefit.”

Oliver clenched his teeth more tightly.  Based on the growl he’d heard on the comms, he doubted that Felicity and Keller had snuck away for a romantic moment.  The fact that they appeared to Martin like a couple wanting to do so, however, was a little disconcerting.  No one had ever mistaken him and Felicity for a couple at any of the events _he’d_ attended with her.  Things had always been very…businesslike.

Marjorie Headley-Gardner’s eyes narrowed.  “Felicity,” she said slowly.  “Small blonde woman, red dress, about so tall?” She held out her hand at shoulder height.

“Yes,” Oliver said eagerly.  “Have you seen her?”

The woman shook her head.  “Not for an hour or so.  It looked like she and Dr. Keller were headed down the first floor hallway toward the kitchen.” She gave Martin a sarcastic smile.  “Not exactly where I would go if I wanted to get down and dirty, but maybe the girl’s not as innocent as she looks.”  She turned back to Oliver and Digg, assessing the two of them openly.  “Apparently, she’s got _something_ special, though, because she appears to be some kind of hot-guy magnet.  First Vincent Keller, now you two.”  She pursed her lips. “I don’t understand it myself, but there’s no accounting for taste.”

Oliver stopped listening after her second sentence.  Felicity had headed with Keller down the first floor hallway?  It wasn’t much, but it was a place to start.   He watched William Martin intently when Digg reminded him, “And you said you don’t mind if we look?”

Martin shook his head.  “Not at all,” he replied to Diggle.  He gave Oliver a sharp glance, but his face softened as he turned back to Digg.  “I hope whatever the urgent matter is, it’s not bad news.  Such a lovely, smart young woman.  I was happy to see the doctor with her.  He seems like a good fellow and she deserves good things in her life.”

“Yes,” Digg agreed shortly, “she does.  Thank you, Mr. Martin, for your patience.  We’ll find Felicity as quickly as we can and then get out of your hair.”  He began to move away, urging Oliver along with a brief slap on his shoulder.

Oliver didn’t need to be told twice.  With a nod to Martin and the Headley-Gardner woman, he followed Digg across the room, past the curious glances of the elegant party-goers. They exited quickly to the first floor hallway and looked around. 

“It looks like the kitchen’s at the end,” he said to Diggle.  “Let’s check there first and then work our way back.”  He pointed to the handful of closed doors on either side of the hallway.

“Right,” Digg agreed.  They walked into kitchen and were greeted by the smell of food, the sound of cutlery and the bustling catering staff.   Everyone was moving about their jobs purposefully and no one seemed agitated, so Oliver doubted that the creature had made an appearance.  There was certainly no sign of Keller or Felicity.  Digg looked at Oliver. “Should we ask anyone?”

Oliver shook his head.  “Waste of time.  If they’d seen anything, they’d already be talking about it.  Let’s check the other rooms.”

They headed back the way they came, opening doors one by one.  There was a utility closet, a half-bathroom, and a small study -- all devoid of both the creature and Felicity. 

The fourth door was locked.  It felt out of place to Oliver when all the other rooms had been open; the fact that there was something behind that door that someone didn’t want people to see made him want to see it all the more.  He placed his ear close to the door and listened intently.  He heard nothing – not a growl or any indication of movement on the other side. 

“Think we should break it down?” Oliver asked Digg.  “I’m guessing I can do it with my shoulder.”

Digg stared at him.  “Or we could just try unlocking it.”  He reached down and twisted a small knob; Oliver heard the deadbolt release with a sharp click.  “The lock is on this side, Oliver.”

“Oh.”

They cracked the door open cautiously, revealing a set of stairs leading down towards what Oliver assumed was the basement.  He was about to take the first step when he recalled Martin’s words a few moments earlier.  He wanted to discount the notion -- it wasn’t like Felicity -- but Martin had seemed to think it possible and he was the one who’d seen Keller and Felicity dancing.  Oliver reminded himself that Keller had a girlfriend and Felicity liked Cat and wouldn’t want to hurt her.  Still, he also knew that strange things could happen when two people were together on a mission, and it would explain Vincent taking himself and Felicity off the air.

“That noise we heard on the comms,” he said to Digg uncertainly.  “That _was_ a growl, right?  It wasn’t a…a…” 

“A what, Oliver?”

“A… _moan_.”  Oliver cringed when he said it.

Digg stared at him for a long moment.  “No way,” he said at last.  But he didn’t sound entirely sure either.

Oliver shook his head.  “Felicity wouldn’t,” he said flatly, more to himself than Digg.

“And Vincent wouldn’t either.”

They continued to look at each other.  Oliver reminded himself that Felicity might lie dying somewhere below and every minute could matter.  It wasn’t a time to be shy.

“Right,” he said to Digg, “Let’s go.”  He pushed the door open wider and, at the last minute, shoved Digg, forcing him to head down first.  Digg gave him a dirty look over his shoulder but kept moving.  Oliver followed.

The stairs were dark, but he could make out a dim light coming from somewhere down in the basement.  He also thought he could hear the low rumble of a masculine voice talking quietly.  There certainly were no creature-like sounds.  If the thing really had been there he was gone now, leaving whatever damage he’d done behind.

“Felicity?” Oliver called out softly.

There was a silence, and then Keller’s voice responded, “We’re down here.”  He sounded subdued, almost overly calm.  There was no answer at all from Felicity.  Oliver felt his anxiety surge.  Why hadn’t she answered?

He pushed his way past Diggle to run down the stairs, all thoughts of disturbing the couple gone.  He wound his way frantically through the basement clutter, heading toward the source of the light.  A number of images flashed through his mind; Felicity nursing a broken limb, Felicity unconscious and bleeding, Felicity cold and still…

Felicity…sitting and enjoying a glass of wine, apparently.

She looked fine – absolutely fine.  There was a slight flush on her cheeks and she was wearing Keller’s tux jacket, but otherwise she was in exactly the same condition he’d seen her in when she’d left for the gala hours ago.  She was just about lost in Keller’s jacket.  It made her look tiny and ridiculous and…utterly adorable.  Oliver was struck by the fact that he had never once, in all their times in the foundry, offered Felicity _his_ jacket to wear.  Keller had known her five minutes and he was giving her his clothes.  It felt very wrong.

Keller himself also looked fine, although he was sporting a couple of red welts on one cheek and his hair was a little disheveled.  His bow tie was undone and lay open on the unbuttoned collar of his crisp, white dress shirt.  He had his own glass of wine and Oliver noticed an empty bottle sitting on an overturned crate, with a second bottle that was at least halfway gone.  Keller and Felicity looked completely at ease with one another, as if they’d known each other for years.  That felt very wrong, too.

“What happened?” he heard Digg ask.  He hadn’t realized that Diggle had caught up.

Vincent gestured to the area that he and Felicity were occupying.  “Welcome to the Martin brother’s secret lair,” he said, before taking a sip of wine.

“Martin _brothers_?” Digg asked.

Vincent nodded.  “Yes.  Apparently William Junior isn’t as dead as everyone thinks.  Felicity and I ran into him tonight.”

“You ran into Billy Martin?”  Oliver repeated.  “Is _he_ the one who locked you down here?  Digg and I could have sworn we heard a growl over the comms.  We thought you were being attacked by the creature.”

“We were,” Felicity said softly, speaking for the first time.

“You were?” Oliver studied her anxiously.  “And you’re alright?”  She certainly looked fine  - no blood, no limbs sticking out at odd angles.  “What the hell happened?”

She glanced briefly at Keller, almost as if for permission.  When he said nothing, she replied, “Vincent fought him off.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes.  _Keller_ had fought the creature off?  How the hell had he managed to do that?  Oliver and Digg together had been almost useless – they’d been thrown around like rag dolls the other morning.   Apart from a couple of scratches, Keller appeared totally unharmed.  His damn dress shirt wasn’t even dirty.

Before he could ask, however, Felicity continued.  “You were half right yesterday, Oliver, when you said you thought that Jeff Martin was somehow turning himself into the…” she hesitated and looked again toward Keller “Beast,” she said carefully.  “Someone did transform, only it was Billy Martin, not Jeff.”

“What the hell?” Digg’s voice sounded as incredulous as Oliver felt.  Digg turned toward Keller with a puzzled expression.  “This isn’t making a whole lot of sense, Vincent,” he said curtly.

Keller sighed.  “I know.  And I know you want to hear everything that happened.  Still, we should probably get out of here first, before either Martin brother comes back and decides to lock us _all_ in.  Felicity and I were able to talk to Billy for a few minutes.  The good news is that he and Jeff don’t want to hurt her.  They tried to kidnap her because they wanted her help.  The bad news is that I’m guessing they _still_ want her help.  And Billy is probably worried about someone other than Jeff now knowing his secret.”

Oliver frowned.  He had a few dozen questions – about how the Martin brothers thought Felicity could help, about how Keller had managed to fight Billy-the-creature off, and about whatever it was that Keller and Felicity had been discussing that had her looking flushed and vaguely disturbed.  For all her youth and optimism, Felicity didn’t rattle easily and something clearly had her rattled.  Still, Keller was right.  They could talk about all of that someplace else.

“You’re right,” he said to Keller, “we should go.”

Keller turned to Felicity.  “Ready to head back up?”

She nodded uncertainly.  Oliver watched her place her wine glass almost too carefully on the crate and slowly get to her feet.   She immediately bobbled, unceremoniously.

“Oh dear,” she said. “Apparently three-inch heels and a bottle of $800 wine don’t mix.”  She smiled apologetically at the three of them. “This may take me a few minutes.”

Keller grinned.  “Here, Felicity, let me give you a hand.”  He reached over and wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her toward him.

And something in Oliver snapped – not a big snap, but enough to decide that if Felicity needed help getting up the stairs, he was going to be the one to supply it.  Not Keller.  Whatever personal discussion the two of them had been having earlier, it was over now.

“I’ve got her,” he said abruptly to Keller.

“What?”  Keller appeared confused.

“I’ve got her,” Oliver repeated.  “You can let go.”  And without waiting further, he pushed himself between the two of them, bent his knees and scooped Felicity up in his arms.

There was a few seconds of silence during which he could have sworn that meaningful stares were exchanged all around.  Digg glanced at Felicity and then Oliver thoughtfully, and Felicity looked toward Keller with her eyebrows raised in question.  Keller flashed her a brief smile in return, and Oliver got the feeling that some kind of words were shared silently in those few seconds.

“Well, alright then,” Felicity said to the three of them in general.  “Problem solved.”  After a short hesitation, she wrapped her arms around Oliver’s neck and rested her head on his shoulder.  He felt a strange surge in his gut.  The last time he’d carried her she’d been unconscious after their van had been overturned and surrounded by Mirakuru soldiers.   This time she was awake and a willing participant.  It was…well, better than nice.  It was…satisfying.  He began walking toward the steps.

There was a sharp crackle and suddenly J.T.’s voice was in his ear.

“What did I miss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got away from me a little. I'm blaming it entirely on the "bam chicka bow wow" comment.
> 
> I probably shouldn't do this, and I suspect I'm going to hear about it, but I got up at an absurdly early hour on a Sunday morning to edit and post this update. I'm on my third cup of the magical brew called coffee. So, here's my Arrow Season 5 wish list. What's yours?  
> 1\. Give Oliver a job other than being The Arrow.  
> Half the fun of a hero with a secret identity is watching him juggle the two aspects of his life. Does anyone remember how entertaining it was in Seasons 1 and 2 when he had to make up silly excuses to disappear? So let him be the mayor…or anything that gets him out of the green suit.
> 
> 2\. Bring Diggle back from the army.
> 
> 3\. Be done with the theme of “the darkness within Oliver.”  
> You’ve beat the snot out of this one; let it go. It’s been 4 years since the island. Put Oliver in therapy, spank his inner child, do whatever you have to do to get him past it. Stephen Amell was a great choice to play Oliver. He’s got range – he can do romantic, he can do emotional, he can do humor. Let him use that range once in a while instead of walking around in a state of chronic grimness. It’s predictable and risks become boring.
> 
> 4\. Keep Olicity, but get rid of the Olicity soap opera  
> I’m not wedded to the comic canon and, as anyone who reads me can tell, I like Olicity. I want to watch Oliver do more than just shoot arrows, and I think he’s more interesting when he is around Felicity (see wish number 3). Get the two of them together in a mutually supportive relationship then focus on catching the bad guys. Everyone now and then give us Olicity fans a little sizzle and some pillow talk, but don’t make it the central theme of the show.
> 
> 5\. Bring Diggle back from the army.
> 
> 6\. Kill the season-long flashbacks  
> They had meaning and relevance in Seasons 1 and 2. In Season 3 they were meh, and in Season 4 they just ate up valuable screen time. Fans seem to disagree strongly on aspects of the show – particularly Laurel and Felicity – but I’ve yet to hear anyone say they like the flashbacks. That should tell you something.
> 
> 7\. Be cautious about adding another recurring hero to the lair  
> It's been tough to create interesting storylines for all of the heroes. Now that you’ve pared down the number of people in the lair – leave it and create better content for the folks that are left. Do something more with Lyla -- she's smart and credible. And please think carefully before making Felicity the Black Canary, if that's where you're going. Emily certainly looks athletic enough to pull it off, but It seems untrue to everything you’ve made Felicity out to be over the last four years. 
> 
> 8\. Bring Diggle back from the army.
> 
> Thanks.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to be a while updating. On the bright side, it's long chapter. I thought about splitting it up, but there's a thread running through it that really belongs together. And, kate, I tried to throw in a little Vincat.

Team Arrow huddled in John Diggle’s hotel room while Team Beast presumably was meeting at J.T.’s house.

 At least that was what Felicity was calling the two groups in her head, ever since Vincent had unexpectedly shown her his alter ego a few hours ago.  She’d better not use those names out loud, she reminded herself, since she was the only one who knew the secrets of _both_ parties.  None of the New Yorkers were aware of Oliver’s extracurricular activities and she was the only one from Starling who was now clued in to the whole Beast thing – most particularly that Vincent _was_ one.  She wondered vaguely how she got herself into these secret-keeping predicaments.   She certainly seemed to have a gift for it. 

She’d suggested to Vincent that they split up to talk to their respective groups of friends back when they were sipping wine in William Martin’s basement.  Vincent hadn’t been too crazy about the idea.  “Beasts can track, Felicity,” he’d said soberly.  “Billy Martin’s been close to you a couple of times now, he’ll know your scent.  There’s a chance he’ll trace you to the hotel.  It puts you, Digg and Oliver at risk.  I think you should come straight back to J.T.’s.”

But Felicity had insisted.  She’d wanted Vincent to have time to tell his friends that he’d revealed himself as a Beast without the constraint of having to be polite in front of her.  She didn’t know J.T. all that well, but she was pretty sure he was going to have a minor conniption and Catherine would be worried about what it might mean for Vincent to have a relative stranger know his secret.  They needed to discuss it openly, something they could not do if she were there.  Besides, now that they knew Billy was alive and had only wanted to enlist Felicity’s hacking skills, it seemed unlikely that he would make any further kidnapping attempts.   Vincent hadn’t been so sure about that, but she’d eventually gotten him to agree – reluctantly – that she would go back to the hotel with Digg and Oliver while Vincent talked to his friends.  Once things calmed down, she’d promised she’d return to J.T.’s.

The thing about Beasts being able to track had been unexpected and promising.  She’d thought about the challenges Team Arrow often had in locating villains.  Being able to sniff them out would be helpful.   “Can you track, too?” she’d asked Vincent hopefully.

He’d nodded, “Yes.”

“So that means _you_ could also track me if Billy Martin were to take me?  Or you could find him if we wanted to talk to him more, for that matter.” She’d been enthusiastic about the possibilities.  Maybe they could locate Billy and do something to help him.   The guy wasn’t inherently evil, after all; he was just desperate.  Despite the kidnapping attempts, she felt a little sorry for him.

Vincent had replied carefully, “I can track him within reason.  If he gets on a plane with you all bets are off.  And it’s trickier tracking another Beast versus an ordinary human.  He’s got _my_ scent now, too.  If he’s paying attention, he’ll know I’m coming.”

“Oh.”

Felicity had tempered her excitement over Beast tracking.  Apparently it wasn’t the silver bullet that would solve the problem of Billy Martin.  Still, it was another weapon in their arsenal…a weapon which they couldn’t use around Oliver or Digg since neither of them knew that Vincent was a Beast, she’d reminded herself.

Sitting in Digg’s hotel room now she wondered how Vincent’s conversation with _his_ friends was going.  Overall, hers could be going better.  Unfortunately, she and Vincent hadn’t thought to come up with a good cover story for his ability to defeat an unstoppable assailant so she was left dancing vaguely around the issue while Oliver and Digg pushed for details.  Coming straight to the hotel after the benefit also meant that she was still wearing her evening gown, a situation she dearly wished she could rectify.   It was late, she was tired, and she was dying to put on something she could breathe in and lie down on the bed.  Instead, with all of her clothes at J.T.’s., she found herself perched on the edge of the hard hotel chair, mentally counting fibs as she answered – or didn’t answer -- Oliver and Digg’s questions.  Oliver was staring at her with that familiar mixture of affection and exasperation that was uniquely his and she doubted he was buying much of what she said.  Digg looked less frustrated, but with his uncanny bullshit detection capability she was certain that he wasn’t fooled either.  She really hated lying to both of them.

“Felicity,” Oliver sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “What aren’t you telling us?  Unless Vincent had a weapon, which I’m pretty sure he didn’t, or is really the Incredible Hulk, there is no way he could have taken on that _creature_ by himself.  He had to have had help.  So what happened?”

Felicity shrugged weakly.  “Really, Oliver, I don’t know what to say.”  ( _Definitely true_.)  “Once the Beast appeared I did my best to hide.”  ( _Sort of true_.)  “I could hear fighting, but I didn’t see any of it.”  ( _Alright, that was a fabrication_.)   “And then there was a break in the fighting and the Beast transformed back into Billy Martin and we talked with him.” ( _Mostly true._ )  “He told us that the kidnappers had messed with his DNA and he was looking for a way to reverse what they had done.  He thought I might be able to help him find the kidnappers or a scientist who had done similar cross-species genetic experiments.  Then he ran up the stairs and locked us in the basement before we could stop him. ( _True._ )”  She exhaled and did her best to look Oliver in the eye. “That’s all I can tell you, really.”  Overall, the tally wasn’t too bad, she thought; a couple of true statements, a couple of mostly true ones, and one outright fib.  Four to one.  Except when she put them all together and looked at her two best friends, it felt like one big lie.

It must have felt like that to Oliver, too, because he continued to stare at her for a moment and then broke his gaze to glance first at Diggle and then the floor.  He frowned.   “This doesn’t feel like you, Felicity,” he said almost sadly.  “I _know_ there’s more to this story.  I thought you trusted me.” 

Ouch.  She’d expected an impatient or even angry reaction and had prepared herself for a reprimand.  But Oliver seemed… _hurt_ , which was a thousand times worse.    She felt the sting of tears forming in her eyes and looked away.  “I do trust you, Oliver,” she said softly.  “More than anything.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me?”

“I…just…can’t… tell you anymore.”

“Because of Vincent?”  His tone was a little sharper.

“No…yes…well, kind of.”  She blinked and to her dismay, felt one tear escape her eye and roll slowly down her cheek.  Ugh – that was embarrassing.  She’d never liked women who tried to cry their way out of difficult situations and now it appeared she _was_ one of those women, even if unintentionally.  Add that to her list of failings for the evening.  Oliver must be ready to get on a plane back to Starling and forget the whole mess. 

She looked up to find him studying her with a peculiar expression, almost as if _he_ felt the need to apologize.  To her surprise, he reached out and cupped her chin, gently wiping away the tear with his thumb.   He sighed and said, “Okay, we’ll leave it for now.  It’s late and you’re tired.  We should get you back to J.T.’s so you can get some sleep.”  He dropped his hand from her face, but kept it resting lightly on her forearm.  Wow.   Apparently this was why those women resorted to tears in tough conversations; it clearly worked.  Oliver had gone from looking like he wanted to shake her to looking like he wanted to hug her.  Go figure.

Felicity thought about Vincent’s advice.  _When it comes down to relationships, we’re all cowards in the beginning.  Someone has to make the first move._   According to Vincent, Oliver might be nervous about declaring his feelings and she should encourage him.  She wondered what constituted a good first move.  Was Oliver carrying her out of the basement _his_ first move?  When they’d reached the top of the stairs she’d expected him to put her down, but instead he’d walked right through the party with her still in his arms, past a surprised William Martin and a resentful Marjorie-the-Piranha.  In return, she’d buried her face in the crook of his neck and clung to him for all she was worth.   Would Oliver interpret that as _her_ move?  Who the hell knew?  There was already an element of physicality to their relationship; they held hands in times of crisis and she’d hugged him plenty of times.  So what would signal the desire for something more?  When you were very good friends who spent most of your time together, where exactly did platonic affection end and romantic love begin?  It was all very confusing.

Oliver was right.  It was time to get some sleep.  Maybe things would be clearer in the morning.

* * *

 

Vincent wondered whether Felicity’s discussion with Oliver and Digg was going any better than his was with J.T.   As expected, his best friend had pretty much freaked out when Vincent had told him that he’d Beasted-out in front of Felicity.  Catherine and Tess appeared to take the news more calmly, but maybe that was because J.T. was doing enough talking for all of them.

“We’ve known her for what – all of four days?  And you decide to Beast-out in front of her?  Why don’t you just post a picture on your Facebook page?  Better yet, next time Oliver Queen drops by you can give him a live demonstration.  He’s got a great reputation for discretion, after all.”   If this were a cartoon, Vincent was pretty sure little wisps of steam would be coming out of J.T.’s ears. 

He sighed heavily.  “What exactly was I supposed to do, J.T.?  We were being attacked by a Beast.  Let him take her and hope that he didn’t hurt her?”

J.T. shook his head.  “No, of course not.  But you could have grabbed her and gotten out of there.  With your speed, there’s a good chance no one would have even seen you, let alone recognize you.”

Vincent shrugged.  “Maybe.  But that would have left one Beast still in the house.  And I don’t think Billy Martin has nearly as much control as I have.  It could have gotten ugly; he could have tried to follow us and people might have gotten in the way.”  Before J.T. could spool up for another counter-argument, Vincent added quickly, “Anyway, it’s done and I can’t undo it.  And I’m pretty sure Felicity won’t tell anyone.  She’s good with secrets.”

“And you’re sure of this how?”

Vincent hesitated, and then said, “Because she’s known the identity of the Starling City Vigilante for a couple of years, and she’s told no one – not the police, and not Digg or Queen.”

There was a stunned silence in the room.  After a minute, Tess broke it.  “ _She_ told you this?  That she knows who The Hood is?  And you believe her?”

Vincent nodded.  “I do.  She was amazingly calm after I Beasted-out.  When I asked her why she wasn’t freaking out she explained that she’d seen some strange things working with The Hood.  She uses her hacking skills to help him from time to time.”

Tess frowned.  “That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement of her trustworthiness.  It’s great that she can keep a secret, but I’ve got to question her judgment.  From what I’ve read about the Vigilante, he isn’t the most law-abiding guy out there.”

“To be fair, neither are we…at least if you go by the book.”  Catherine spoke up for the first time.  “We’ve harbored a fugitive,” she glanced briefly at Vincent, “and withheld information from time to time.  And yet _we_ still think of ourselves as the good guys because we’re doing it for the right reasons.  Vincent’s got pretty solid instincts when it comes to figuring out who he can trust.  If he thinks Felicity will keep his secret, then I’m inclined to believe him.”  Vincent felt the familiar, warm sensation that he always got when Catherine showed her faith in him.  He smiled at her and she smiled back.

“Maybe,” J.T. said skeptically.  “But what about her friends?  Your army pal, Digg, might be okay.  But Oliver Queen?  He’s got a lousy reputation.”

“Like I said, she hasn’t told either one of them who the Vigilante is,” Vincent reminded him.  “They know she works with him, but they don’t know his name.  She promised she wouldn’t say anything to them about me being a Beast either.”

J.T. gave a low whistle.  “Well, that’s a hell of a secret to keep from your friends.  Those three look like they’re pretty tight.  I’m sure Queen and Digg are pumping her for information even as we speak.”

Vincent had no doubt that J.T. was right about that one.  It was one of the reasons he didn’t like the idea of Felicity going back to the hotel with Digg and Queen without more time to process the whole _Beast_ - _thing_.  It was never fun keeping secrets from your friends, especially friends who seemed as invested in Felicity’s welfare as those two.  In fact, he thought to himself, she’d probably had enough questions by this point and needed a break.  He pulled out his phone and texted her that the coast was clear to come back to J.T.’s place.   She texted in return almost immediately with a relieved smiley face.

“Well, she’s on her way,” Vincent told J.T., “And I’d appreciate it if you don’t treat her with suspicion when she gets here.  My guess is she’s had a pretty tough time with Queen and Digg.”

J.T. shrugged and nodded reluctantly.

* * *

 

Walking back to the hotel from J.T.’s house, Oliver tried to sort through the odd kaleidoscope of emotions that kept taking turns surfacing.  It had been a hell of a strange night; one that had started with seeing Felicity looking beautiful and content on Vincent’s arm and ended with Oliver leaving her at J.T.’s home, looking subdued, tired and almost apologetic.  It was a little past midnight, but the sidewalks still held plenty of people returning from their Friday night revels in the Big Apple.   Beside him, Digg strode quietly, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.   

First and foremost, Oliver knew that he felt relief.  Relief that Felicity was not injured, relief that the… _Beast_ , or whatever it was that Felicity was now calling him, had not hurt her.  That hour or so between the time Oliver had heard the growl on the comms and then finally found her safe and sound in the basement of Martin’s house had been one of the longest ones in his life – in some ways worse than when Slade Wilson had taken her.  Slade had been a plan, after all; _Oliver’s_ plan.   Slade had been a calculated risk and Oliver had been reasonably confident that, because the man wanted to see him suffer, he would make no attempt to harm Felicity until Oliver was there to see it – which gave him the chance to stop it.  This thing with Billy Martin, on the other hand, had been entirely outside of his control.  Feeling powerless had added a new, unaccustomed dimension to his worry.  He didn’t like it.

Then there was frustration.  Frustration because Felicity clearly knew more than she was telling him but for some reason wouldn’t or _couldn’t_ say more.  Frustration because Felicity was supposed to keep secrets for _him_ , not for other people.   Frustration because he could see that she _wanted_ to confide in him but was holding back because her integrity or courage or whatever it was that made her different from other people – _better_ than other people -- wouldn’t allow her to talk.  It was that Felicity-quality of honor that had made him stop questioning her.   He knew all about impossible choices and he was pretty sure that by demanding to know what had happened he was pushing her into one.  If he pushed so hard that she eventually told him, then she would be disappointed with herself for betraying some kind of confidence.  He didn’t want to be the cause of that.

Oliver picked up his pace as the kaleidoscope flipped and another, less defined emotion emerged.  He wasn’t sure exactly what he was feeling when he had seen Felicity with Keller, but he knew he didn’t like it.   It had left him with a sense of unease that refused to go away, even when he’d found her in the basement and was carrying her in his arms.  Digg, no doubt, would say it was jealousy – and maybe it was, to some extent.  But Oliver thought it was more complicated than that.  Seeing Felicity looking happy with another man, he’d realized, was peering into the future.  It was inevitable.  In some ways it was surprising that a man hadn’t already found her and swept her off her feet.  She was intelligent, she was beautiful, and she had a brightness that made everything about her better.  What guy wouldn’t want that?  The only saving grace thus far had been that she was so busy being by Oliver’s side that she hadn’t had time to look elsewhere.   But at some point that would change and he would have to watch her go home to someone else, hold hands with and hug someone else.   He would have to not think about her making love with someone else.

“It’s not a race, man.” Digg’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“What?”

“I said, ‘it’s not a race,’ Oliver.  You’re walking so fast you’re practically running.”

“Sorry.”  Oliver tried to make himself slow down.  He took a deep breath and shortened his stride.  “Better?”

“Yup.” 

Oliver glanced over at Diggle.  The man was gazing down the sidewalk with what only could be described as a poker face.  Come to think of it, he had been quiet the entire evening, which was unusual given all that had happened.  Though he thought he might regret it, Oliver couldn’t help asking, “You want to tell me what’s on _your_ mind, Digg?  You haven’t said much of anything since we got Felicity out of that party – which isn’t like you.  Typically this is the time when you dispense advice, particularly for me.”

Digg shrugged. “I thought I’d give it a rest tonight,” he replied blandly.  “There’s clearly a lot going on in that head of yours.  Maybe you need time to sort it out on your own.”

“Which means you think there’s something I need to sort out?”

_That_ got more of a reaction.  Digg rolled his eyes and chuckled, “Really, Oliver?  That’s how you want to play it?  You want to pretend that this whole evening – hell, this whole _week_ with Felicity in New York hasn’t shaken you up just a little?”

“Of course I’m shaken, Digg.   Someone’s tried to kidnap Felicity twice and tonight I believed she’d been attacked by that… _Beast_.  I’m worried about her and hell, yeah _,_ I’m shaken.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Oliver, and you know it.”

“I’m not sure I do, Digg.  Why don’t you explain it to me?”

Digg exhaled sharply.  “Fine, if that’s the way you want it.  Ever since we got to New York you’ve had to watch Felicity work with someone other than you.  You’ve seen that other people value her skills and appreciate her for what she is.  You’ve seen her make a connection outside of Starling City.”

Oliver frowned.  “Where exactly are you going with this, Digg?”

Diggle shook his head impatiently. “Oliver, like I told you back in the foundry before we left, I don’t pretend to understand what goes on between you and Felicity.  You always want her with you and you definitely care about her, but whether it’s more than that – well, I have my ideas but they don’t really matter.  It’s what the two of you think that counts.  The one thing I _do_ know is that the ace up your sleeve has always been Felicity’s desire to do something important, to be more than an IT employee.   Working with you has given her that – it’s given her a chance to be a hero and that’s kept her by your side, even when she’s had to watch you with other women.  But this week…this week she’s learned that she can do important things with _other people_ , that what makes her a hero is _her_ – not being with you.” 

“And?”

“And she knows she has a choice now.  And if you want to keep her by your side in the long run, Oliver, you’re going to have to give her another reason for staying besides being part of the team.”

Oliver was silent for a few strides.  Finally he said, “Wow, that’s quite a speech, Digg.”

“Well, you asked.  I told you I was planning to give it a rest.”

Oliver sighed, “Yeah, I suppose you did.”  He stopped walking, bringing Digg to a halt as well.

“Something else you want to say, Oliver?”

“Do you mind walking back to the hotel on your own?  There’s someone I need to talk to.”

* * *

 

Catherine closed the door to her apartment and kicked off her shoes.  “Well, that was an eventful evening,” she said to Vincent. Her tone was sarcastic, but there was an impish smile on her face that reassured him that she was handling things with her usual optimism.  He smiled in return, and tossed his tuxedo jacket over the back of a chair.

“I know it’s late,” Vincent said, “but would you like a glass of wine?  I realize I probably had my fair share from Martin’s wine cellar, but I could use something to help me unwind now.  Listening to J.T. yell for nearly an hour has me a little on edge.”

Catherine laughed, “Sounds great.  I was on duty, so _I_ haven’t had a damn thing to drink all evening.  I’ll go get out of this,” she gestured to the evening gown she was wearing, “and into something more comfortable.  You pour.”

“Right.”  Vincent stepped behind the island in her kitchen and located a bottle of red wine as Catherine padded barefoot down the short hallway to her bedroom, the stiff fabric from her dress rustling as she moved.  He barely had time to uncork the bottle and fill two glasses before she returned in a tank top and drawstring pants, her favorite choice for pajamas.   Vincent wasn’t sure which look he liked better.  She was stunning when she dressed up for an evening out, but this was pretty great too.

“Oh, I think this will hit the spot.”  She took a glass and settled onto one of the kitchen barstools with a deep sigh.

From across the counter, Vincent leaned toward her and clinked his glass gently against hers.  “I’m not sure what we should toast to,” he said, “but thank you for not freaking out as much as J.T.  I don’t think I could take two lectures on the risks of Beasting-out tonight.  I haven’t seen him this wound up in a while.”

“He’s your best friend.  He’s just worried about you.”

“And you’re not?”

Catherine shrugged.  “I decided I’m going to trust your instincts about Felicity.  I like her, too, and if you think she can keep it a secret, I’ll run with that.”  She took a deep swallow of her wine.

“I really think she can.  And besides, I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.”

“I know that, too.”  Catherine paused in mid-sip to study him, her smile gradually transforming into a puzzled expression.  “You’re not going to change clothes too?  Usually you can’t wait to get out of the penguin suit.”

Vincent shook his head.   He’d recalled Felicity’s words about suspenders, dress shirts and getting lucky when they’d walked into the apartment and thought it might be fun to put them to the test.  After all he wasn’t particularly tired, Catherine’s support over Beasting-out reminded him once again why he loved her, and she looked particularly attractive in her PJ’s.  “I’m okay like this,” he replied.  “Besides, I’m checking out a theory.”

“What theory?”

“Just something Felicity told me.”

Catherine put her wine glass down and gave him another long, assessing look.  Then she frowned and rolled her eyes.  “She told you about suspenders, didn’t she?”

Vincent nearly dropped his wine glass.  “Yeah – she did.  How did you know?”

“It’s pretty commonly known among women to be a major turn-on, right up there with good facial scruff and six pack abs.”  Catherine traced the top of her wine glass with her finger – a little seductively, he thought.  “Does this mean you’re thinking our evening isn’t completely over yet?  I figured you’d be tired and just want to sleep.”

“I’m not that tired.”

She grinned, a sparkle emerging in her green eyes.  “Well, that’s good news.  I’m glad to see you saved some energy for me.”  His heart leapt when she continued, “I think we’ll have to find out how much.”  After a short pause, however, the sparkle faded and she added with mock seriousness, “I’m a little disappointed in Felicity, though.  She kind of violated the girl-code when she told you.  Maybe she’s not so trustworthy after all.” 

Vincent laughed.  “No, please don’t assume she can’t be trusted.  We shared a moment down there in the basement and it got a little personal.  She told me about suspenders and I gave her some advice about Oliver Queen.”

“Really?  What exactly did you advise her to do?”

“I told her he might be nervous about a relationship and suggested she encourage him a little.  You know, the way you encouraged me.”

“ _Encouraged_ you?  I chased you shamelessly.”

“Precisely.”  Vincent put his wine glass down and walked around the kitchen island til he was standing in front of Catherine.  He gently took the glass out of her hand and slid it to the side.  “You _did_ chase me,” he agreed softly, “and I will be forever grateful.”  He ran his hand up her bare arm until it rested on her shoulder.  “Now, about testing Felicity’s theory…”  He slowly lowered his face to hers until he was inches away.  Right before making contact he said, “Why didn’t you ever tell me about the suspenders thing?”

Catherine smiled.  “You have enough going for you in the hotness department.  I didn’t think I needed to give you another one.  But since you now know …” She gently grasped his suspenders and pulled him down until the short gap was closed and their lips met.

And Vincent felt the last remnants of his tension leave his body – at least the tension from J.T.’s lecture.  A different, more pleasurable tension began to replace it as their lips moved, and he gave in to the urge to clasp Catherine around the waist and lift her from the stool until their faces were level.  She wrapped both arms around his neck and her legs around his middle, and deepened the kiss further.  Vincent barely had time to register that he owed Felicity for the suspenders tip, before he began backing out of the kitchen and heading slowly down the hall toward the bedroom.  At the same time, Catherine started undoing the buttons of his shirt, never stopping her enthusiastic kisses.  All in all, the evening had taken a sharp turn for the better.

And then there was a knock at the door.

They both froze.  History showed that late night knocks were almost never good; typically they were Beast-related, and ended with either him or Catherine being arrested or at least taken somewhere for questioning.  He wondered if Jeff or Billy Martin had called in an anonymous tip to the police or decided to seek him out themselves.  Maybe Martin Senior had reported that he was missing a couple of very expensive bottles of wine.

“Give me a second to get my weapon,” Catherine whispered in his ear.  He nodded, and lowered her to the floor.  She quickly ran to the kitchen to retrieve her gun from its holster on the kitchen counter.  Once she had it in hand and gave him the thumbs up, Vincent silently went to the door and glanced through the peephole.

He stepped back and stared at Catherine, perplexed.  “It’s Oliver.”

“Oliver Queen?”

“Yup.”

“By himself?”

Vincent nodded.  “Just him.”

She frowned.  “Well, that’s a surprise.  I suppose you should let him in; he must have something important on his mind to come by this late.”  She gave a small shrug. “On the bright side, at least I’m not going to have to shoot anybody.”

Glancing once again through the peephole at Queen’s rather fierce expression, Vincent mumbled, “I’m not so sure about that, but okay…”  He unlocked the two sturdy deadbolts on Catherine’s door and slowly swung it inward, not moving from the opening.

Queen met his eyes steadily.  The fierce expression didn’t lessen.  “Can we talk?”

Vincent felt compelled to stare back for a few seconds, if only to establish that he could be equally as fierce. Then he stepped away from the doorway and gestured inside the apartment.  “Come on in.”

Queen entered and immediately began scanning the interior of Catherine’s main room.  Vincent couldn’t help thinking that it was a move a covert ops professional would make, not a playboy CEO.  Queen caught sight of Catherine returning her weapon to its holster on the counter and asked dryly, “Do you always answer the door armed?” 

She looked at him and pursed her lips. “Well I’m a cop, this _is_ New York City and,” she glanced at the clock, “after 1:00 in the morning, so _yeah_ , answering the door armed kind of comes with the territory.”

There was a few seconds of silence.  Queen didn’t exactly relax, but he did give a shadow of what might pass for a smile.  “I’m sorry for coming by so late,” he said at last, “but I’m really trying to figure out what happened tonight.”  He gazed down at his feet.  “Felicity hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with the details, which isn’t like her, so I figured maybe you could tell me.” 

Vincent glanced at Catherine, and when she nodded her assent pointed to the sofa and chairs that formed her living room.  “Have a seat,” he said reluctantly to Queen.  He was pretty sure he didn’t want to have this conversation.  Felicity had probably told Oliver as much as she could, short of revealing that Vincent had Beasted-out.  He didn’t know what else he could say to put Queen’s mind at ease.  He was also afraid of saying something that might contradict whatever story Felicity had given him.

Queen selected an armchair and lowered his body into it.  It would be an exaggeration to say that he _settled_ into the chair.  The man had a restless energy that filled Catherine’s apartment and made the place feel smaller.  Vincent wondered what, if anything, he did for fun.  He had a hard time picturing Oliver in a movie theater or falling asleep in front of the television.  He had too much edge, too much _something_.  Maybe that’s what happened when you survived five years on an island.   Once again Vincent was reminded how little the public reputation of _Oliver Queen_ seemed to fit the real person.

Catherine came over and joined Vincent on the couch.  They both looked at Queen expectantly.

“I can’t figure it out,” Oliver said shortly. “I can’t figure out how you were able to fend off that creature, that _Beast_ , as Felicity says, without one or both of you being killed.  Something else must have happened in that basement.  She won’t say what, and it has me worried.”

Vincent felt Catherine rest one hand lightly on his thigh.  It was her way of saying _we’re in this together_ and, as always, it gave him reassurance.  “What did Felicity tell you?” he asked.  He was curious and a little anxious to hear how Felicity had spun the tale.

“She says she hid as soon as she saw the Beast, and that somewhere in the middle of it all he chose to transform back into Billy Martin.  When he did, she came out of hiding and you both spoke with him.”

Vincent nodded, hoping his relief wasn’t evident.  “That’s pretty much what happened,” he agreed.

Queen gave him a skeptical look.  “So, after two previous kidnapping attempts in which he physically attacked J.T. and then Digg and me, he decided this time that talking would work better?  I’m not buying it.   He’s pretty much unstoppable.  He could have easily killed you and grabbed Felicity.  Why didn’t he?”

Vincent shrugged.  “It’s hard to say what goes through another man’s mind,” he replied, hoping he didn’t sound glib.  “I’m certainly glad he chose to become Billy again and give us the chance to talk.  Otherwise, as you say, it wouldn’t have been pretty.”

Queen’s face darkened.  “I’d appreciate if you didn’t insult my intelligence or screw around with me,” he said to Vincent tersely. “I’ve got common sense, despite what the media might say.   There was no reason for Billy Martin to just _talk_ to you both and then leave.  Something happened in that basement to stop his attack, something that neither you nor Felicity are willing to explain.  I don’t know what kind of secrets you keep in _your_ relationship,” he gestured toward Catherine, “but Felicity and I have always been honest with each other.  She’s keeping something from me now, and the only reason I can think she’s doing that is to protect you.”  He paused to take a deep breath and some of his anger seemed to evaporate.  “Look,” he said more evenly, “I have very few people in my life that I trust completely.  Felicity is one of them.  I don’t want to see that trust erode over this.  It will hurt me and, believe me, it will hurt her too.  She’s not going to be happy in the long run keeping secrets from me.  So, please, can you just tell me what happened?”

It was a decent speech.  Vincent was certain the man was being earnest, and yet…something didn’t add up.  If Oliver and Felicity didn’t keep secrets from each other, then how did he handle her working with The Hood?  According to Felicity, she hadn’t shared The Hood’s identity with anyone, and being with Starling’s vigilante had to introduce an element of danger into her life that Oliver wouldn’t like.  How on earth had he been able to make peace with that?  Vincent decided the question needed an answer.  

“So how do you deal with her working with The Starling City Vigilante?” he asked Oliver abruptly.

Queen’s jaw dropped.  “What?” 

Vincent frowned.  Apparently Felicity hadn’t told Oliver she’d disclosed her Hood-support arrangement to Vincent.  In fact, it was appearing like she hadn’t told Oliver much of anything.  “When we were in Martin’s basement, I asked Felicity why she seemed accustomed to dangerous situations,” he explained, “and she mentioned that she did some tech support for The Hood.  She said you and Digg knew.  I hope I didn’t just speak out of turn.”

Queen shook his head.  “No, Digg and I are aware of it.  And I agree about her being accustomed to danger.  Probably more accustomed than she should be.  But I don’t see what you think working with The Hood has to do with her not telling me what happened tonight.”

He seemed sincere about not making the connection.  Vincent was evidently going to have to clarify further. “You said the two of you don’t keep secrets; that secrets will eventually damage your friendship,” he said carefully.  “So I was wondering how you’ve been able to cope with her keeping _that_ secret – the identity of the Vigilante.  It’s pretty big and it certainly puts her at risk.  I’m sure he has enemies.  You must worry about that.”  Vincent felt Catherine squeeze his thigh gently.  He placed his hand over hers as they both looked at Oliver Queen.

And for the first time since he’d walked in, Queen’s face showed some emotion other than stubbornness.  There was surprise, followed by guilt, and then uncertainty.  Reminding Oliver of Felicity’s support for The Hood had clearly struck a chord.  It would almost have been comical, except that the emotions were too raw, too real.  Queen seemed vulnerable, and a little lost.  This, thought Vincent, is what it looks like when a man who likes to have control feels some of it slipping away.  Queen stared at both of them indecisively for a long moment, and then appeared to come to some kind of resolution.

“The answer to the first part of your question is easy,” he said quietly.  “I’m able to cope because Felicity _isn’t_ keeping a secret from me about The Hood… _The Arrow_ ,” he corrected himself.   After a pause he added, “And that’s because I _am_ The Arrow.  As for the second part of your question – yes, I worry about her.  I worry about her constantly.”

You could have heard a pin drop or, in this case, Vincent could make out the slow _plink, plink_ of the faucet dripping in the bathroom down the hall.  He looked at Catherine and suspected his face mirrored hers; astonishment, incredulity, suspicion.  He stared at Queen.  “Yeah, right,” he said at last.  “You ran a Fortune 100 company by day and found time to hone your archery and hand-to-hand skills at night.   After all, everyone needs to have a hobby.  Why not pick fighting criminals for amusement?”  When Queen said nothing, Vincent continued, “I’m not sure what you thought you’d get me to reveal with that story, but – nice try.  You get points for originality.”  Queen frowned, but remained silent.  He no longer looked so vulnerable.

“I think I believe him.” Catherine’s voice was soft, but steady.

Vincent turned to her.  “What?  You’re buying that?”

She nodded.  “Think about it, Vincent.  That perfect kick when the guy tried to grab Felicity from the car?  The decision to go into Martin’s house even though he thought a Beast was in there?  And the fact that Digg _never_ behaves like a bodyguard around him?   It’s because Oliver doesn’t need protection, he can take care of himself.”

“Catherine…”

“Seriously, Vincent, it all adds up.  I mean, you saw him when he walked in here tonight.  He cased the place in 30 seconds.  That’s a professional move.  And think about the timing of the Vigilante.  He went into action a couple of months after Oliver was rescued off the island.  It fits.”  When Vincent continued to gape at her she added, “You have a pretty good…sense…for lies.  Why don’t you…check?”

In other words, Catherine wanted him to use his Beast senses to see if Oliver was telling the truth.  Probably not a bad idea.  Vincent pushed his skepticism aside and made himself go still and focus entirely on Queen’s vitals.  Heart-rate was steady.  Respiration – steady.  No rise in temperature.  No excessive swallowing.  All indications that Oliver was being honest and was, indeed, The Hood…no, excuse me, _The Arrow_.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said softly.  Catherine was right.  It certainly did explain a lot. 

“You’re what?  A human lie-detector?” 

“Sorry?”  Vincent looked up to see Queen almost glaring at him.

“I said  - you’re some kind of human lie-detector?  You did something just now to figure out that I was telling the truth.  Does that skill have anything to do with the secret that Felicity won’t tell me?”

Oh hell, the man just wouldn’t give up.  A minute ago he had been shaken by Vincent’s reminder that working with The Arrow put Felicity at risk, but now he was right back to digging into what had happened earlier in Martin’s basement.  Vincent stared at Queen and shook his head.  “Can’t you just let it go?” he said tiredly.  “It’s been a long night for everyone.”

Queen moved to the edge of his chair and leaned toward Vincent, resting his elbows on his knees.   “I just told you something about myself that gives you a lot of power.  You could call the police in Starling and report me.  You could create a blog and start rumors flying.  I told you because Felicity trusts you, and I trust her.  I did it because I don’t want to have this _thing_ , whatever it is, coming between me and Felicity.  So do me the courtesy of trusting me in return.  Please tell me.”

Vincent turned to Catherine.  Queen was relentless and – worse – he had a point.  Vincent was certain that Felicity trying to keep a confidence from Oliver really _was_ going to come between them…at some time or another.  He wasn’t sure it was right to ask that of her.  And now that he knew Queen’s secret, he felt a kind of empathy with him.  Like Vincent, Oliver could reveal himself to very few people in his life.  Felicity was one of those people; a lifeline, just like Catherine was _his_ lifeline.  He looked at her now, the question in his eyes.  After a long moment, she smiled and took his hand.  “I’m okay with it,” she said.

“You are?”

“Yes.  I think he can be trusted.”

Vincent nodded.  “Okay, then.”  He turned to Queen.  “The way I was able to tell you weren’t lying, and that _thing_ that Felicity won’t tell you?”  Queen looked at him anxiously.  “It’s that _I’m_ a Beast, too.”

It was Oliver Queen’s turn to look incredulous. “You’re telling me you can transform into one of those…creatures?” he asked flatly. 

“Yup.  Felicity saw me, and promised not to tell.”

Queen digested that information for a few seconds and then shook his head.  “I don’t know, you seem pretty normal to me.  I’ve seen you off and on for four days now.  No sign of claws, no yellow eyes, no climbing up sides of buildings.”

Vincent almost laughed.  “I’ve been at it longer than Billy Martin.  I have much better control.”  When Queen continued to look doubtful he added, “It’s how I was able to beat Billy Martin when he transformed in the basement.  You said yourself that Beasts are pretty much unstoppable.  The only way to defeat one is with another Beast.  That’s exactly what happened.  And _that’s_ what Felicity wouldn’t tell you.”

“Why?”

Vincent smiled wryly.  “I’m a physician in a major New York hospital.  How long do you think I’d keep that job if people knew about my other… personality?  You said I look pretty normal to you?  Well, that’s exactly what I want.  A normal life.   I want to get up every morning and go to work, then come home and be with the person I love.”  Catherine squeezed his hand tightly.  “It’s a simple as that.  When Felicity promised not to tell anyone she saw me Beast-out, she was honoring my wish to have a normal life.”

Queen sighed.  “It sounds like her,” he said thoughtfully.

“She’s pretty amazing.”

“I know that.”  Queen’s voice was almost defensive.

There were a few beats of silence.  Vincent glanced at the clock.  It was close to 2:00 am.  New York really _is_ the city that never sleeps, he thought.

“So,” Catherine said cheerfully, “Now that we both know each other's deep, dark secrets, what happens next?”

Queen shook his head.  “I honestly don’t know.  I still have a lot of questions, but I don’t think it’s the time to delve into them.  It’s late, I’m pretty sure I interrupted the two of you, and I really think I should talk to Felicity.”

Vincent hesitated, and then said, “Do you mind if I offer you some advice about her?”

Queen rested his head in his hand and laughed.  “Sure, go ahead.  Why should you be any different?”

Vincent chose his words carefully.  “People like you and me, people who have to walk around with a big secret?  It gets tiring.  And it sure as hell gets lonely.”  He turned to Catherine and ran one finger lightly down the side of her face.  “When you find someone you can share it with – who can _handle_ it – well, it seems a sin to waste that.  I thought it was impossible for me to have a real life until I met Catherine.   Now, with her, my secret is part of me but it doesn’t define me.”  He looked steadily into Oliver’s eyes. “Felicity?  She strikes me as a woman who can handle it.”

Queen stared back for a few seconds before dropping his gaze.   He clasped and then unclasped his hands on his lap. “I’ll say goodnight now,” he said finally, never acknowledging Vincent’s words about Felicity.  “I’m guessing we’ll talk later about Billy Martin.”  He got to his feet but gestured for them to continue sitting.  “I can see myself out,” he said, and headed to the door.  Just before leaving, he turned and added, “Thank you for you honesty.”  And then he was gone.

Vincent turned to Catherine.  “J.T. is really going to blow a gasket,” he said.

She smiled.  “I know he is.  But for now, I want to get back to our conversation about suspenders.  It’s late, but I’m still pretty wide awake.”

 

That suited Vincent just fine.

* * *

 

Felicity lay in the bed in J.T’s spare room and stared at the ceiling.  She was exhausted… _exhausted_...and yet somehow sleep eluded her.  She’d known the conversation with Oliver was going to be upsetting, but she’d thought she’d be able to handle it.  After all, they’d had arguments in the past and things had eventually sorted themselves out.  This time, however, she could see no light at the end of the tunnel.  There was a secret she needed to keep -- a _lie_ she needed to tell Oliver, and keep telling Oliver forever.  She wasn’t sure she could do it.  She tried to remind herself that there were plenty of things he didn’t tell her.  She only knew a fraction of what had happened to him on the island, for example.  But somehow that didn’t help.  She sighed and rolled onto her side.  She thought briefly about getting up and going on J.T.’s computer, but decided that might wake him and Tess.

There was a gentle tap on the door.  So gentle that she thought it must be her imagination.  She listened intently for a few seconds but heard nothing and decided to roll over onto her other side.

The tap repeated itself.  This time, the door swung open after the tap, and Oliver’s voice followed it.  “Felicity,” he called softly into the room, “are you awake?”

“Oliver?”

“Yeah, it’s me.  I was wondering if you’d mind talking for a few minutes.”

“Oliver, how did you get in here?  It’s,” she squinted at the clock across the room, but without her glasses the LED numbers were a red blur, “really late,” she finished.

“I know that.  I kind of let myself in so I wouldn’t wake up Tess and J.T.  I didn’t like the way you and I left things back at the hotel and wanted to talk to you some more.”  When she didn’t respond to that, he added, “I went to see Vincent.  He told me what happened.”

She sat up in bed.  “You did?  He did?”

“Yes.  Can I come in so we can talk about it?”

She lay back down and pulled the covers up to her chin.  Which seemed silly when she thought about it, because the room was dark and she was wearing a tee shirt that showed off absolutely nothing.  She pushed the covers back and sat up again.  “Yes, you can come in.”

He moved silently into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, facing her.  The tension from earlier in the evening seemed to be gone from his body, although she couldn’t quite see his facial expression.  He slumped a little, and sighed.  “I think I owe you an apology.”

“You do?”  As far as Oliver went, this was uncharted territory.

“Yeah.  Vincent told me what happened, the secret that you were protecting.”

“Which is?”

He laughed softly.  “The secret you’re still protecting, evidently.  I’m not trying to trick you, Felicity.  Vincent told me that he’s a Beast too, and that you saw him,” he hesitated, “Beast-out?  Is that the term?”

“Yes.  That seems to be the proper vernacular.”

He chuckled again.  “Well, I understand now why you wouldn’t tell me.  It was his secret to tell, not yours, and you were respecting that.  I’m sorry I put you in a position where you had to choose between loyalty to me and doing what was right.  I’d like to say it won’t happen again, but I’m not sure I can promise that.”

She sighed and lay back down in the bed.  “I understand, Oliver.”  She felt some of the tension easing out of _her_ body.  She began to think it might be possible to get to sleep after all, knowing that Oliver was no longer angry with her, no longer _disappointed_ in her.  She closed her eyes, comforted by his nearness.

“I told him I was The Arrow.”

“What?”  She shot back upright.

“I told him I was The Arrow,” Oliver repeated.  “It felt like the right thing to do.  I was pushing for his secret, it seemed only fair to tell him mine.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”  He ran one hand through his cropped hair.  “It’s been a hell of a night.”

“Morning, really.”

Oliver sighed.  “Right, morning.”  He stared at her.  For a second she thought he might take her hand, but he finally just said, “I’m really beat.  Do you mind if I lay down here and close my eyes for a few minutes?”  He pointed to the other side of the queen-sized bed.

“No, Oliver, that’s fine.”

“Good.”  In the darkness, she could hear one and then the other of his shoes dropping to the floor.  Oliver moved around the bed and lay down next to her, on top of the covers.   She lowered herself back down as well and closed her eyes again.  Her heart really should be thumping, she thought.  After all, she was in bed – sort of – with Oliver.  But instead it felt natural, normal.   As if this was something they always did.

“Sleep well, Felicity.”

“You too, Oliver.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay. Work, work work... Maybe someday I'll be part of the idle rich but, unfortunately, not yet and I still need to pay the bills.

Oliver felt the first flicker of consciousness return and immediately opened his eyes.  He was surprised to see daylight.  Years of anticipating danger had trained him to wake while he still had darkness as his cover.  The opportunity to move unseen, to get the jump on his enemy, had saved his life more than once on the island.  To awaken _after_ sunrise was a talent – or maybe a weakness -- he thought he had lost forever.  He instantly felt vulnerable and his body tensed, but when no threat appeared he allowed himself the luxury of relaxing.   It seemed no one was after him today.

It took him a few seconds to orient himself.  He was still in his clothes atop a bed in an unfamiliar room, the muffled sounds of city traffic somewhere outside the walls.   Closing his eyes, he recollected the events of the night before; William Martin’s hospital benefit, the growls of the creature over the comms, rushing with Digg into Martin’s house, going to see Vincent and Catherine.  All of which brought him to…

Felicity.

His eyes flew open again and he quickly turned his head.   He was afraid he might find her watching him but – no – she was still asleep, curled on her side with her hair spread out in a tangled mass over her pillow.   Like an unruly child, she had kicked off most of the covers, exposing a pair of well-toned thighs and a bit of black, lacy underwear that peeped out from under her tee shirt.   She seemed to be in a very deep sleep; her breathing was slow and even, her lips parted slightly.    One hand rested trustingly on his bicep. 

Well, this was…unexpected.  Looking at her semi-dressed state, he also thought it had the potential to be awkward when Felicity awoke.  He recalled that she had had no objections when he’d asked if he could rest on her bed, but things whispered at 3:00 in the morning often didn’t age well when exposed to the glaring light of day.  A new sunrise had the habit of returning people to rationality in a manner that could be as chilling as any cold shower.  He wondered whether she’d be flustered and blurt out a few of her clumsy but endearing innuendos.  Hell, maybe she would even expect him to have left. 

And maybe, like him, she wouldn’t want to dig too deeply into the reasons they’d both slept easily and naturally beside each other, as if it was an old habit.  He stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.  

The good news was that he was fairly certain he could slip off the bed and out of the room without waking her.  The early morning, post-coital escape was something he had mastered even before the island.  It was a handy skill to have; when he was younger it had helped him avoid all kinds of embarrassing conversations like _I’m sorry I forgot your name_ and _I would never have guessed_ _you’re not a natural redhead_.   In this case, of course, there had been no coitus to make it _post_.  Disturbingly, however, it seemed that gazing at Felicity’s legs was starting to make him feel a little… _pre_.   He flexed experimentally on the bed.  Yup -- the jeans were definitely growing a little snug down there.

He did his best to dismiss it.  He was a guy, after all, and he _had_ just woken up.   Automatic arousal at this time was a well-established phenomenon, as normal as bed-head and stale breath. The fact that those amazing legs were attached to Felicity had absolutely nothing to do with imagining what it would be like to run his hands along their silky smoothness.   Nor did those soft, full lips belonging to her have any bearing on his urge to kiss them.  This was just your average, garden-variety, first-thing-in-the-morning male lust.  Any man finding an attractive blonde in his bed would feel it.  And it was another reason to make his escape -- _now_.

But, oddly, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to leave.   Instead, he just lay there as the minutes ticked by, watching her sleep, knowing that every breath brought her closer to waking.  He even allowed himself to fantasize a little and found his fantasies a bit frightening.  Sure, they included the normal guy stuff – like sliding those black panties off of Felicity and burying himself inside her -- but there were other aspects that were atypical, at least for him.  For example, instead of simply giving herself over to the mechanics of passion, the Felicity in his fantasy kept gazing at him lovingly and whispering endearments in his ear. And that look of trust and confidence she’d shown him so many times during their missions?  It was on her face as he moved over her, telling him that there was so much more to his imaginary coupling than physical desire. 

None of which was helping the state of his jeans.  He really needed to leave before she woke up.

He began inching his way to the edge of the bed, but stopped abruptly when he heard a light tap on the door.  Immediately following it, the door inched opened and J.T.’s head appeared as he leaned into the room.

“Felicity? We were wondering if…” J.T. stopped abruptly when he saw Oliver.  His face hardened.  “How did _you_ get in here?”

Oliver put his finger to his lips in a shushing motion and pointed to Felicity, still sleeping.  J.T.’s expression softened a little.  After a minute, the New Yorker added more quietly, “Vincent, Cat and Digg are all here.  We’ve got coffee and breakfast in the main room.  When she wakes up, the two of you can join us.”  He paused, then said, “And you can explain how you got in.  I didn’t hear you last night, and I’m a pretty light sleeper.”  He withdrew his head from the room and closed the door gently.

Oliver sighed and lay back down on the bed.  He’d missed his opportunity; there was no point in trying to slip out now. He wondered if Diggle had already discovered that he was AWOL from the hotel.  He suspected there would be another lecture in his future once Digg learned where he’d spent the night.  Indeed, between Digg and Vincent, he’d lost count of the pearls of well-meaning Felicity-guidance he’d received over the last four days.

“Oliver?” 

He glanced down to see the subject of so much advice gazing up at him sleepily.  She looked surprised and more than a little confused.

“Good morning, Felicity.”

She ran her fingers through her hair and squinted at the clock across the room.  “You’re still here.  What time is it?”

“Close to 9:30.”

She frowned groggily.  “Oh, wow, it’s late.”

“Yeah, I know.  We both must have been really tired.”

She rolled onto her back and stared up at him.  “And you were asleep most of that time?  I always figured you’d be one of those people who wake up at the crack of dawn.”

“Normally I am.  I haven’t slept this well in a while.”  He hesitated for a moment, not sure he should say it.  Finally, he added cautiously, “Maybe it was the company.”

As soon as he’d uttered the words, he knew they had come out wrong.  He’d meant it as a compliment, a way of telling her that she’d given him a gift.  To sleep soundly next to someone trusted, to not feel alone in the dark, silent hours, was special.  Even with Sara, he’d never really managed more than fitful dozing.  But Felicity failed to pick up the meaning behind his words – or else she refused to acknowledge the compliment.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she grinned ruefully.  “I have a talent for putting men to sleep.  Next time you have a bout of insomnia, feel free to give me a call.” 

He was about to explain but then stopped.  Maybe she had the right idea -- maybe they should keep it light.  He responded in kind. “Well, apparently I have the same talent with women, because you dropped off last night in 30 seconds and slept right up until now.  I can’t swear to it, but I might have even heard a snore or two.”

“I don’t snore.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

She grinned again, but didn’t reply and they lay there for a few minutes in silence.  Gazing about the room, Felicity at last seemed to notice that her tee shirt had inched up and her black and (to Oliver’s mind) surprisingly sexy underwear was showing.  Oliver expected her to be flustered and grab for the blankets, but instead she just subtly tugged the shirt down to cover her panties, leaving her remarkable legs on display.  All in all, she was reacting to the waking-up-together situation much more calmly than he’d expected.  He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.  Did it mean she had come to think of him as a platonic buddy, almost a brother?  Or had they just spent so much time together that sharing a bed seemed a logical extension of their working arrangement?  And, most of all, why did it bother _him_ that his nearness wasn’t discomposing her more?

“So you really told Vincent and Catherine that you’re The Arrow?”  She rolled onto her side facing him, propping her head on her elbow to gaze at him expectantly.

He nodded.  “I did.”

“Why?”

“I told you last night.  Vincent told me his secret.  It only seemed fair for me to tell him mine.”

She shook her head, unconvinced.  “I find that kind of hard to accept.  Up until this point, I would have sworn that you didn’t respect or even _like_ Vincent, despite the good things Digg has said about him.  You certainly glare at him all the time.  Why on earth would you tell him about The Arrow?”

“I don’t glare at him.” _At least I don’t_ _when he’s not touching you…_

“Oliver…”

“I _don’t_ glare at him.”

She pursed her lips and gave him the same disbelieving look she’d given him a couple of years ago, when he’d first approached her with the laptop and claimed he’d spilled a latte on it.  “Oliver, you’re not exactly subtle, you know…”

“Okay, fine.  I admit I haven’t been too crazy about him.  I felt like he was hiding something and – you know what? – I was right.”

“So why did you tell him about The Arrow?”

He frowned, uncertain of how to answer.  She may have missed the _sleeping-well-next-to-you_ compliment, but it was going to be hard for her to miss his next truth – if he had the stones to say it.  Because he hadn’t lied last night when he’d told Vincent he was revealing his identity as The Arrow for the sake of his relationship with Felicity.  He’d needed to learn what had happened in the Martin basement; he was sure that her keeping it a secret would eventually drive a wedge between them.  He would remain suspicious and a little disappointed, and his trust would erode, just as it had eroded with his mother.  And she meant too much to him for that to happen.

The truth was that he’d given up his identity for her.

It felt like a morning for truths.  He’d gotten six hours of the best sleep he’d had in months, and the woman lying next to him was the reason.  She’d fought beside him, metaphorically, for two years now, always giving her best.  She deserved honesty. 

He rolled onto his side to face her, and looking into her eyes said softly, “Felicity, the truth is I told Vincent about being The Arrow _before_ he told me he was a Beast.    I needed him to trust me, to talk to _me_ , and it was the only thing I could think of.”

It wasn’t enough of an explanation.  She frowned and said, “Oliver, I still don’t understand.”

Impulsively, he took her hand in his.  A light pink flush appeared on her cheeks.  He said carefully, “Felicity, something big happened to you last night and I needed to know what it was.  You clearly believed you couldn’t tell me, and I felt the secret was going to get in the way of our rela—our friendship.” He paused, then took a deep breath.  “You’re too important to me to lose over something like this.  So…I told him about The Arrow in order to get him to tell me what really went on.”  And with his big reveal, he glanced anxiously at her face, hoping she wasn’t going to be too embarrassed or uncomfortable.

And to his surprise, she did not look at all embarrassed -- or even terribly impressed.  Instead, she stared back at him, her brow puckering slightly.   He could have sworn the expression was awfully similar to her annoyed face.

After a lengthy pause, she said, “Oliver, you do appreciate how inconsistent you’re being, right?”

It was his turn to pucker his brow.  “Excuse me?”

“This whole notion of worrying that my secret might destroy our friendship?  I assume you get that it’s kind of ironic, not to mention hypocritical.”

Well, so much for a tender moment.  He let go of her hand and exhaled heavily.  “No, Felicity,” he said slowly, “I’m not sure I do understand.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Oliver, you have more secrets than the CIA.   Every time I think Digg and I are finally up to speed, another one pops out like a…a Pop-Tart in the toaster.”  She thumped the hand he had just been holding on the mattress.  “You never seem to worry about _those_ secrets coming between us.  Digg and I are supposed to trust you and follow you, regardless.  So, really, I don’t understand why you’d be so worried that a measly _one_ of mine could destroy our whole relationship.”

He stared at her flushed face.  Apparently she was comparing this situation to his reluctance to tell her everything about the Gambit and his five years missing; and there was no comparison – none at all.  He shook his head.  “Felicity, you can’t equate this to what I went through.  Most of what I survived sounds so fantastical that no one would believe it, and I think I can be forgiven for not wanting to revisit it.  My life became surreal when the Gambit when down while yours has been…”

“Has been what, Oliver?” She cut him off sharply.  “Has been what?  Boring?  Routine?  Dull?”  She flopped onto her back, breaking eye contact.  “The truth is,” she said crisply to the ceiling, “you know very little about my life before I met you – and, btw, you really haven’t asked much about it.  You only learned about my father this year because I volunteered the information.  I could have done prison time, climbed Mount Everest, or been married and have a kid for all you know.”

He frowned, a little worried.  “Have you done any of those things?”

She shook her head.  “No, but that’s beside the point.  The point is, you never asked.  You act as if last night is the only possible secret I could have – and, according to you, I’m not _allowed_ to have it for the sake of our friendship.”

Oliver opened his mouth and then shut it again, unsure of what to say.  So now Felicity _wanted_ to keep secrets?  This conversation was going sidewise on him.  It had started with wanting to show her how important she was and had somehow twisted around to his having no interest in her life, while at the same time not allowing her any privacy.  It made no sense and – still -- he was pretty sure that if Digg had just heard them he would support Felicity’s position one hundred percent.  If he were honest with himself (and this was a morning for honesty), Oliver had to admit that he had been very focused on his mission to save Starling and maybe _hadn’t_ learned as much about Felicity as he could.  He knew she was smart; she was amazing with computers; and she packed a hell of a lot of courage into a relatively small package.  Up until now, it had been all he’d needed to know. 

Lying on his side, he studied her as she continued to gaze stubbornly at the ceiling.  Somehow he had to get them back on track.  He wanted to return to that feeling of accord they’d had when she first woke up.  And he wanted her to know that he cared about her for more than just her hacking skills.

He took a deep breath.  “Felicity,” he said at last.  “I’m sorry.  I know you had a life before me – and given the incredible person that you are, I know you must have done some fantastic things.”  He paused before adding, “I admit I’ve been so caught up in my own issues that I haven’t shown the interest in you that I should.  But please don’t take that to mean that I don’t care, because I do and always will.” 

It was the first apology he’d given her since the _Barry Allen_ / _get your head in the game_ argument months ago.  He hoped she could tell he was every bit as sincere now as he had been then.

But unfortunately, she just kept staring at the ceiling and saying nothing.  He even thought he might have seen a small grimace cross her face.  He felt a spark of worry.

“Felicity?”    

She sighed.  “I hear you, Oliver, and I appreciate the apology – I really do.  If I don’t look more grateful, it’s because I think I might have popped a stitched when I flipped over onto my back.  I felt a ping.”

Oh crap.  He had forgotten about her stitched-up back.  So much had happened, it seemed like a lot more than three days since he’d sat in this room with Vincent to help suture her wounds.  The fact that she never mentioned her injury made it easy to ignore.  She really was tougher than he gave her credit for.

“Felicity, turn over and let me take a look.”

She flushed.  “It’s okay, Oliver.  I’m sure Vincent can check it when he gets here.”

_Vincent_ again.  Given Felicity’s comments earlier, he made an effort not to glare.  He supposed it made sense for the man to examine her; he was a doctor, after all.  Still…

Oliver tried once more.  “Felicity, I helped Vincent stitch you up the last time, remember?  There’s nothing I haven’t already seen.  I promise, if it’s bad we’ll wait until Vincent gets here to repair the sutures, but at least let me see.”

She shrugged -- a little nervously, he thought -- and still wouldn’t meet his eyes.  After a minute she said,   “Okay, Oliver.”

“Thanks.”

She rolled gingerly from her back onto her stomach.  Oliver rose to kneeling beside her on the bed and gently raised the tee shirt.

The first thing that struck him was that this really wasn’t at all like when he had assisted Vincent with the sutures a few days ago, although he would never say that to Felicity.  At that time, Felicity’s lower half had been modestly covered in jeans and Vincent’s medical kit had added a clinical air to the whole experience.  This time, he was confronted with her pert bottom clad in nothing but a pair of black bikini underpants, and they were entirely alone on a bed.  

He forced himself to concentrate on the sutures.

The second thing he noticed was that Vincent had done a really good job, much better than he or Sara ever could have done.  The redness of the wounds was already fading to pink, and the lines where the skin had been joined were incredibly fine, in some cases disappearing.  He searched for broken stitches and eventually found one, but it was in an area where the skin had already begun to close.

“Your back looks really good, Felicity,” he said encouragingly.  “You did break one stitch, but it’s in a spot that’s healing well.”  He reluctantly added, “Vincent did a very good job.  I think you’re going to have very little scarring.”

She finally smiled.  “Is that a good thing?  You and Sara always seem so proud of your scars.”

He chuckled, relieved to feel their accord returning.  “For you, it’s definitely a good thing.  You look great in a backless dress – I’d hate to see you unable to wear one.”

The room was quiet while she absorbed his latest compliment.  He almost laughed -- it wasn’t often that he could bring her to silence.  At last she said, “I’m kind of hungry.  Do you want to get breakfast?”

“Actually, J.T. stopped by while you were still asleep.  He said there’s coffee and breakfast in the main room.”

“Great, let’s go.”

Oliver paused.  “Before we go in there, we’d better think about who knows what.”

Felicity frowned.  “What do you mean?”

“Well…I told Cat and Vincent last night that I’m The Arrow.  J.T. and Tess don’t know that, and Digg doesn’t know I told Vincent.”  He pursed his lips.  “And Digg doesn’t know that Vincent’s a Beast – and J.T. doesn’t know that Vincent told me he’s a Beast.”

“Oh crap.  I see what you’re getting at.”  She ran her fingers through her hair.  “You don’t think Vincent told J.T.?”

“No, I think he’d ask me first, just as I’d ask him before I said anything to Digg.”

She sighed.  “I’m going to need a cheat sheet.”

Oliver laughed.  He couldn’t help it.

* * *

 

Felicity slipped on a pair of yoga pants and they walked into the main room to find their friends sipping coffee and chatting comfortably.  Cat and Tess had split off to huddle in front of the computer while the male portion of the group appeared to be talking football.  Some things were universal, Oliver thought.  Digg gave him a hard stare but didn’t say anything.  The _You Spent the Night with Felicity_ interrogation would no doubt come later.

“Felicity,” Tess said cheerfully, “you made the _Manhattan – About_ website.”

Felicity stared at her, puzzled.  “What?”

“It’s a New York City website with intel about our rich and famous,” Tess explained. “There’s pictures from the Martin benefit.  Wow - you photograph really well!”

Oliver walked over to the computer.  Yep  -- sure enough – there were over a dozen photos from Martin’s gala and Felicity figured prominently in a couple of them.  The first was a picture of Felicity and Vincent dancing, with the caption: _Who says only blue-haired, little old ladies attend hospital benefits?  NYC’s own war hero, Vincent Keller, found a blonde and very attractive young lady to spend time with._  The second photo was of Oliver carrying Felicity.  She was looking up at him with wide eyes, clutching his shirt with one hand, the other around his neck.   The caption for this photo was less complimentary – at least toward him:  _Starling City’s playboy, Oliver Queen, found time to visit from the west coast and apparently took a shine to Keller’s companion.  Find your own girl, Oliver!_

Felicity joined him at his side.  “Ugh.  I can hack the website and get those off of there in a couple of minutes.”

Tess shrugged.  “Why?  You look great!”

Well that much was true, Oliver thought.  Felicity was stunning in both pictures. 

Felicity shook her head.  “After everything that’s happened this week, it just doesn’t feel smart to have pictures of me on a NYC website.”

Catherine turned from the computer to look at her. “I can understand you wanting privacy,” she said gently, “but I don’t think there’s any risk.  We know now who was after you and we know why.  The Martin brothers aren’t going to learn anything more from these.”  She gestured toward the photos.

“Which brings us to the question, though,” Digg spoke up for the first time, “of what we actually want to _do_ about the Martin brothers.  They’re still out there.”

Oliver frowned.  “Why do we need to do anything at all?  Felicity’s safe – we can head back home to Starling.”

Digg nodded. “That’s certainly an option.”

But Felicity shook her head. “I’d feel bad if we just left.  All Billy Martin wants is to stop being a Beast.  He needs help.”

Digg turned to her with the reasonable expression he used so often in the foundry. “That’s generous of you, Felicity,” he said slowly, “but what can you really do?  As smart as you are, you’re not a biologist and I doubt you’ll find a cure on the internet.  We have no idea who did that to Billy Martin, so you wouldn’t even know who to hack.”  Oliver glanced gratefully at Diggle, glad to have him arguing for the trip home.

Felicity pursed her lips.  “No, I’m not a biologist,” she agreed.  “But _he’s_ a biochemist,” she nodded toward J.T., “and I could always call Caitlin at STAR Labs.  She came up with the Mirakuru antidote.”

An almost sad look passed over J.T.’s face.  “Felicity,” he said gently, “I’d love to help Billy Martin – to help _any_ Beast – but his DNA has been modified.  It’s a lot more complicated than finding an antidote to a drug.  It would take years of genetic research and testing and even then...” His voice trailed off, and he glanced briefly at Vincent.

Oliver stared at J.T.  Of course, he realized.  J.T.’s been trying to cure Vincent ever since he returned to New York.  How frustrating for him not to be able to help his friend. 

Felicity must have realized the same thing, because she stopped pressing.  Instead, she said, “Well, when I made my reservations for New York, I had planned to do some sight-seeing after the convention.  It’s Saturday, and my flight home isn’t until Tuesday.  I could still see the sights _and_ do a little hacking in the evenings, just to see if there’s any information out there.”

Oliver shook his head.  “Even though the Martin brothers know we’re onto them, I’m still not sure it’s a great idea for you to be wandering around the city on your own.  They could try to execute their plan, anyway.”

She looked at him and smiled.  “Who says I need to be on my own?  You and Digg can wander with me.  How long has it been since you’ve taken a vacation – since _any_ of us have taken a vacation?”

It was a gentle reminder that they’d been through an almost steady hell for two years without a break.  Oliver looked at her hopeful face and felt the urge to say _yes_ , despite the problems that needed solving in Starling.  Reconnecting with his sister, regaining control of Queen Consolidated -- all of that could keep for a few more days.  This was his chance to be with Felicity when it wasn’t a world-in-peril crisis.

“Okay,” he agreed with a grin.  “If Digg doesn’t mind, he and I can play tourist with you and wander New York City.”

“Actually,” Digg broke in, “if it’s all the same, I’d like to try to call Lyla today.  And if Vincent’s not busy, maybe he and I can take some time to catch up.  We haven’t had much chance to talk.”

Diggle’s face was carefully neutral, but Oliver could have sworn he saw a twinkle in the man’s eye.  Was Digg pushing him to spend time with Felicity alone?  If so…

“Okay, Felicity,” Oliver said brightly.  “It looks like it’s you and me on the town.”

She smiled again.  


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the full chapter I originally intended; I'm working on the Digg/Vincent conversation. However, I've had this part done for a while and Sonoem asked so nicely...
> 
> So, here -- shorter, but hopefully still good.
> 
> Boston

Using _Oliver_ and _fun_ in the same sentence was not something Felicity was used to doing.

She felt bad for thinking that, but – really – it was true.  For all she admired, respected and cared for Oliver, she was far more likely to use words like _intense_ and _brooding_ rather than _fun_.  It wasn’t meant as a criticism; she knew he hadn’t had many opportunities to kick back and chill since he’d returned to Starling.  He’d lost his best friend and his mother in the span of a year, and he’d had to save the city from total destruction -- twice.  It was perfectly reasonable for him to walk around in a near-constant state of _grrr._    Indeed, there had been times over the last couple of years when she’d wondered whether Oliver had lost the _capacity_ for fun.  After all, any muscle could atrophy if it wasn’t used.

To her delight, it appeared Oliver hadn’t lost the use of his joy muscle.

Felicity cringed as soon as soon as the words _joy muscle_ popped in her brain.  Thank God she hadn’t said them out loud – at least she prayed she hadn’t.   She glanced at Oliver, sitting next to her in their horse-drawn carriage as the driver took them through Central Park.  He wasn’t smirking or rolling his eyes so she was pretty sure she’d only thought them.  They’d just spent an hour at the Metropolitan Museum as part of her _play tourist_ day in New York City.  Felicity had been reluctant to propose anything as scholarly and sedate as looking at paintings, but to her surprise Oliver had suggested it after a quick search on his cell phone for the current exhibits.  His mother had loved the Dutch Masters, he’d said, and looking at them almost made him feel like he was spending time with her.   

After the museum, they’d headed into Central Park for fresh air and a little people watching.  It was a glorious fall day.  The leaves on the trees were beginning to turn to orange and gold, and the sun’s warmth felt good on her face.  They’d strolled past a Saturday pick-up soccer game, a group of middle-aged women doing yoga, and a hoard of roller skaters careening wildly along the paved paths.  When they’d spotted the horse-drawn carriages, Oliver had insisted they take a ride.  Once again, Felicity had been caught off balance.  It seemed like such a _couple-y_ thing to do and they were not a couple, even though this day had her feeling like they were – just a little.  Oliver was being attentive and at times a bit physical; nothing that he really hadn’t done before -- a hand on her lower back or a brief touch on her shoulder – but for some reason today it felt more intimate.  Maybe it was because they had slept beside each other last night, Felicity thought.  Or maybe it was because he was doing it when they weren’t in the midst of an epic battle with someone at risk of losing his life.

Indeed, at this moment there was no sign of danger in the form of the Martin brothers or Beasts, and Oliver was making her laugh by providing a running commentary on the people they passed in the park.   As their driver steered the carriage at a leisurely pace, he pointed out a number of men and women, making up stories about their lives.  A few of the stories were serious, but most were silly; the construction worker whose dream was to dance with the New York City Ballet or the stockbroker who was secretly keeping 25 cats in his apartment.  She laughed because the stories were funny, but even more because it was good to see Oliver so light-hearted.

“Check out the John Mayer-wannabe,” he said, pointing to a man seated on a blanket, strumming a guitar and glancing soulfully at the woman next to him.  The couple appeared to be sharing a picnic and a bottle of wine.   “I’ll bet he’s singing _Your Body is a Wonderland_.”

Felicity smiled and shrugged.  “Not my favorite song, but he gets points for effort.   Being serenaded and having wine and a picnic on a beautiful day isn’t a bad idea.  She certainly looks like she’s appreciating the thought he put into it.”

Oliver shook his head.  “He put no thought into it at all, Felicity.  This is a routine for him – standard operating procedure.  He picked up the food at a local deli, the wine at the liquor store next to it, and I’ll bet knows how to play three songs on that guitar.  He just wants into her pants – and this is his MO to get there.” He studied the couple for another minute. “I’ll admit,” he added, “that it seems to be working.  She’s making it easy for him.”

Felicity turned to look him.  “That sounds a little cynical.”

Oliver gave her a small grin. “Maybe it is, but believe me, I know his type.  I used to _be_ that type when I was younger.”

Felicity laughed once more.  “You played the guitar to get into girls’ pants?” she asked.  She had a hard time picturing that one.

Oliver’s grin turned sheepish.  “Not the guitar.  My dad was a billionaire and I didn’t need musical talent.  But I had my own routine that included Jagermeister and a Jacuzzi.  Not exactly original, either.”

“And it worked?”

Oliver sighed.  “More often than I’d care to admit.”

Felicity leaned back against the cushions in the carriage and gazed at the couple on the blanket.  Oliver might be right about the routine, she thought, but that didn’t mean those two weren’t happy.   Neither of them would be going home alone tonight, and there was something to be said for that.  She continued to watch the couple until the movement of the carriage gradually shrank them into the distance.  “Well, routine or not,” she said wistfully, “I wouldn’t mind someone making _some_ kind of effort to impress me, beyond a stupid pick-up line.  When I first started at QC in the IT department, you wouldn’t believe the stuff that guys said to me hoping to get into _my_ pants.  They didn’t even bother with a cup of coffee, let alone lunch and playing a guitar.”

Oliver frowned, suddenly more serious.  “What exactly did they say?  And who said it?”

Felicity pursed her lips thoughtfully.  “Well, let’s see, there was…” She lowered her voice in an imitation of her male colleagues. “ _‘Hey Felicity, let’s go into the conference room and I’ll show_ _you how well my hard drive works,’_ or how about, _‘Why don’t we stop by my place after work and you can check out my_ _memory stick’_.”

Oliver clenched the hand that seconds ago had been resting loosely on his thigh.  “That’s sexual harassment.  You should have reported it.”

Felicity shrugged.  “I thought about saying something to HR, but in the end I found a better solution.  The _Hard Drive_ guy somehow lost all the code he’d worked on for a week, making him late for a big project.  He was eventually fired – not a big loss for QC because he was a really bad coder.  I was able to finish his assignment in a couple of days and it was much better code, believe me. And the guy who was so proud of his memory stick sent a series of crazy emails to our IT boss and was put on leave for counseling.  He swore he didn’t send them, but they certainly came from his account.  It all worked out in the end.”

“Still, Felicity…”

She placed her hand on top of the fist he’d formed and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “Don’t worry about it, Oliver.  It was a long time ago.  And once you made me your executive assistant, it all stopped.  No one at QC had the nerve to come near me -- too afraid of pissing off the boss.”

He relaxed slightly.  “Well, then something good came out of making you my EA.  You weren’t bothered by jerks like that anymore.”

She smiled wryly.  “Says the man who’s dated three women since I’ve met him.”

He turned to her, curious.  “What exactly does that mean?”  And then, “Who are the three women?”

Felicity patted his hand.  “It means that despite our evening job, _you’ve_ managed to find time for a little companionship while _I’ve_ had a couple of years of…” she hesitated before saying, “celibacy.  Making me your EA during the day plus your technical assistance at night certainly helped me avoid jerks, but it also kind of helped me to be a nun.”  Oliver’s inquisitive expression became slightly guilty and she paused, not wanting to continue this line of discussion.  She’d already busted his chops earlier that morning about not allowing her secrets; she didn’t want to ruin the fun they were now having by suggesting he was responsible for her perpetual singleness.  Besides, if she were honest, she knew most of the blame rested with her.  Digg had managed to find a relationship and still be on Team Arrow.  She hadn’t done the same because she hadn’t tried. 

Wanting to return the mood to lightness, Felicity poked him gently in the ribs and added with a grin, “And the three women are McKenna, Helena and Sara.  It’s really four, if you throw in that temporary insanity with Isabel in Russia.”

And, thankfully, Oliver grinned back.  “Isabel definitely doesn’t count.  I’m blaming that entirely on nerves before the mission.” After a second he added, “And the vodka.”

“Right.  We’ll say it’s three then, and keep the vodka to a minimum in the future.”

“Good plan.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, once more in accord.  Somehow the hand she had been resting on Oliver’s fist was now on his thigh, with his hand lightly covering it.  It felt nice.  She wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of the day, she thought.  They were above ground in the sunlight with no one on the verge of losing his life.  Oliver seemed happy.  She wondered if it would feel the same if they did this more often or if it would get old -- if one or the other of them would miss the thrill of the foundry and the comm links and the mission.

Oliver squeezed her hand.  “You know, Felicity,” he said suddenly, “I hope you know you shouldn’t settle.”  When she gave him puzzled look he continued, “When it comes to men, I mean.  You shouldn’t settle for a cheesy line or pickup routine.”

There was humor in his tone but his eyes were serious, and she felt her heart flutter – just a little.  Where exactly was he going with this?  She turned to face him and raised her eyebrows.

“I know I don’t say it enough,” he continued slowly, “but you’re an amazing person.  You deserve someone who’ll make more of an effort than the standard routine he uses for just any woman.  You should expect a man to do something original, something meant only for you.”

Oliver was giving her dating advice?  That was unexpected. “Such as?” she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders.  “I don’t know.” The twinkle returned to his blue eyes.  “Maybe swinging in an elevator shaft – or blowing up a building.”

Two things they had done together; the flutter in Felicity’s heart grew stronger.  Was this Oliver’s way of suggesting that _he_ was the man who knew what was meant for her?  With their eyes connected, she felt like some kind of second, silent conversation had started between them and only wished she knew what was being said.  Oliver was so guarded it was tough to tell whether he meant this to be about the two of them, or if he really was just telling her to hold out for the right man.  They stared at each other for a long moment.

And then the moment ended.  Oliver let go of her hand and glanced around.  “Well,” he said with a smile, “our carriage ride is just about over.  What do you want to do next for your _be a tourist_ day?”

Felicity hesitated.  “I’m not sure.”

“I thought you had a list.”

“I do, but I don’t know if some of the things will appeal to you.  They’re kind of geeky.  For example, I was thinking of going to see the Intrepid.   It’s an air and space museum on an aircraft carrier.”

Oliver smiled.  “Actually, it sounds pretty good, but since the weather is so nice I have a suggestion for something else we should do first.  Remember, we still have time tomorrow, too.”

He was going to do this again with her tomorrow?  Yay.  “Okay, Oliver.  What were you thinking?”

Oliver’s smile broadened.  “Coney Island – Luna Park, specifically.  Nathan’s hot dogs, cotton candy, and a ride on the Cyclone.”

Felicity didn’t return his smile.  “The Cyclone – that’s a roller coaster, isn’t it?”

“One of the oldest and best.”

She exhaled sharply.  She hated to be a buzz-kill, particularly when Oliver appeared as enthusiastic as a little boy, but there was no way in hell she was getting on some old roller coaster.  The last time she’d been on one, she’d given up her lunch _and_ her breakfast.   “The hot dogs and cotton candy sound good, Oliver,” she suggested by way of a compromise. “Why don’t _you_ ride the Cyclone and I’ll watch.”

He shook his head firmly.  “Oh no, Felicity; we do this together or we don’t do it at all.”

She frowned.  “Roller coasters really aren’t my thing.  I like to show gravity some respect.”

He took hold of her hand again. “You swung through an elevator shaft on the 24th floor of the Merlyn building with me and you jumped out of an airplane with Digg,” he coaxed.  “A roller coaster should be a piece of cake.”

“Should be, but isn’t.”

“When is the last time you were on one?”

Before she’d left for college.  “I don’t know -- close to ten years ago, I think.”

He leaned toward her and put his hand on her shoulder.  “Then let’s try it – just once.  You can grab onto me if you get scared.”

She studied his eager face.  She would do this, she decided, if only to keep Oliver looking this happy.  “Fine,” she sighed.  “But if my hotdog ends up all over your shoes, remember whose idea this was.”

“Duly noted.”

The driver brought the carriage to a stop and they climbed out and headed for the subway.  Felicity’s heart was still fluttering – whether in anticipation of the roller coaster or because of Oliver, she wasn’t quite sure.


	18. Chapter 18

John Diggle never kidded himself that he was the smartest guy on the planet, but he knew with certainty that he was a pretty damn good at detecting bullshit.

It was a skill he'd honed over years of military service, enhanced by even more years in private security. Diggle had been lied to by enemy soldiers and clients alike (Oliver in the early days was a perfect example), and there had been times when believing those lies could have resulted in someone's death, including his own. So he'd become skilled at reading people, at picking up the little tells that indicate when someone is being less than absolutely truthful. The fact that the woman he loved and the mother-to-be of his child was an ARGUS agent didn't hurt either. It had given him exposure to Amanda Waller, one of the smoothest liars in the world.

So he didn't ignore it when his bullshit alarm began going off as the gang convened in J.T.'s home the morning after the hospital benefit, even though he was surprised by it. It wasn't a huge, resounding ring; just a gentle, persistent buzz that told him something wasn't quite as it appeared, and that _something_ was related to Vincent. He had no idea why Vincent might lie and he didn't think the reason could be bad enough to shake his belief in the inherent decency of his friend. As wingman to The Arrow, he knew firsthand that people kept secrets for all kinds of reasons. Still…it made him curious why Oliver wasn't pressing for an explanation about what had happened in Martin's basement and equally curious about what Vincent _wasn't_ saying. Eight hours ago, Oliver had been obsessed with learning how Felicity and the doctor had walked away from one of those _creatures_ with barely a scratch; Digg had expected him to be in pursuit of the facts this morning like a dog after a bone. Instead, the normally moody Oliver offered to spend the day with Felicity taking in the sights of New York City as if he hadn't a care in the world – or at least as close as Oliver ever came to appearing carefree – and Vincent was silent whenever Billy Martin's name came up. Digg was pretty sure Mr. Queen and Dr. Keller had come to some kind of understanding last night.

The group at J.T.'s eventually whittled down to just three; Digg, Vincent and J.T. himself. Shortly after Oliver and Felicity left, Tess and Cat were called on their day off to process a murder scene. Tess grumbled about being summoned to work so shortly after providing security at the benefit, but Cat promised to buy her a latte and assured Tess that they'd hand the case over to an on-duty team as soon as possible. She also reminded her partner that they'd get overtime, and with Tess's shopping habits, overtime was not a bad thing. Tess reluctantly agreed and the two women left.

The smaller group suited Diggle just fine. When he'd told Oliver he wanted to stay behind and catch up with Vincent it wasn't a ploy to push Oliver into some alone-time with Felicity (although he hoped to God it would help the pair resolve a few issues after the whole Slade thing). The time Digg had spent talking with Vincent earlier that week during the hacking convention had been dedicated to their present situations; Vincent's work at the hospital, his relationship with Catherine, and Diggle's impending fatherhood. They hadn't talked about the last ten years. Digg wanted to learn more about the path Vincent had taken once he'd left the service. His own transition to civilian life had been difficult and it sounded as though Vincent's had been even crazier. Yet, somehow his friend had managed to wind up in a good place, with a successful relationship and a fulfilling career. There had to be a story there.

It seemed like a reasonable conversation for two army buddies to have. J.T. must have felt differently, however, because he hovered around like a nervous mother, interrupting every time Digg began asking Vincent how he'd gone from ' _killed in action in Afghanistan'_ to ' _alive and practicing medicine in New York_ '. J.T.'s interruptions were subtle at first but became more obvious over time, and Digg's bullshit alarm starting sounding louder. He found himself alternately frustrated and amused at J.T.'s efforts to keep certain topics off limits.

After a while, even Vincent appeared affectionately exasperated by his friend. "J.T.," he admonished, grinning, "I thought you were going to the college to grade exams today. Digg and I can entertain ourselves for a few hours. You don't have to stick around."

J.T. stared pointedly at Vincent. "It's not a problem - I can catch up on my work next week. I thought I'd stay here today in case you _need_ me for anything." To Digg, it sounded more like a warning than an offer.

Vincent shook his head, still grinning. "We're fine, J.T. I'm sure we can manage by ourselves, without getting into trouble."

J.T. frowned. "I wouldn't bet on it. It seems like trouble's followed us around all week – I'd hate to see _any of us_ find more."

"J.T., we're just going to sit here and talk. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Do you want a list?"

Vincent sighed, his grin fading. "No, I don't want a list. I'm sure you could manage to come up with a long one and convince Digg that you're completely paranoid. Look, I promise you we'll be careful – _I'll_ be careful. Okay?"

J.T. gazed at his friend for a moment, clearly undecided. At last, he shrugged. "Fine," he said shortly. "I _am_ behind at the college after everything that's happened this week and I could stand to spend time in my office. I trust you," he hesitated, searching for words, "will make sure things don't get out of hand." There was a load of meaning in the statement.

"I think I can manage it, J.T."

"Right." J.T. located his keys on top of the bar and pocketed them. "Then I'll see you guys this evening." And, giving Vincent one more meaningful stare, he retrieved his sweatshirt from a chair and left.

The big room was silent for a few seconds. It felt surprisingly empty without J.T.'s nervous energy filling it. Digg glanced at Vincent, unsure of what to say, and then decided it was time to stop beating around the bush. It wasn't even lunchtime yet. He didn't feel like having a half-truthful conversation for the rest of the day.

"You gonna tell me what that was all about?" he queried mildly, nodding his head toward the door J.T. had just walked out.

Vincent frowned and didn't pretend to misunderstand the question. After a few seconds, he hunched forward on the sofa and dropped his gaze to study his hands where they lay in his lap. Digg could almost see the internal debate going on in the man's head. It was one he was familiar with; he'd gone through it regularly when he came back from Arrow missions and Carly would ask how he'd spent the evening. There were things you wanted to say but knew that once you did, nothing was going to be the same. It was scary, one of those pivotal moments in life where you could lose something very dear to you. On the other hand, as he'd once told Oliver, secrets had weight and carrying them around was tiring. Today, he and Carly were essentially estranged and he saw his nephew infrequently. He wondered whether things would be different – better - if he'd told her the truth about working with The Arrow.

He remained quiet. This was Vincent's decision.

After a long minute, the doctor inhaled deeply. "As you can probably tell," he began slowly, "J.T. likes to protect me. We've been friends since we were ten – it's an old, old habit."

It seemed like an opening - an invitation. Digg decided to accept it. "And you're trying to decide whether you can tell me what he's protecting you from now," he said gently.

Vincent lifted his eyes from his lap and looked at Diggle. "Yeah."

"Whatever it is, you were able to tell Oliver last night." Digg made it a statement, not a question.

Vincent's eyes widened. "How do you know that?"

"I know Oliver. When we got back from the benefit he was all over Felicity about what happened in Martin's basement. And then suddenly this morning he drops the subject and runs off with her to play tourist without one question? There's no way Oliver would do that unless he already got the answers he wanted. I'm pretty sure he didn't get them from Felicity. She can be as stubborn as he is when she puts her mind to it. So that leaves you."

Vincent rubbed one hand tiredly over his face. "You always were good at reading people," he said dryly. "You're right, of course. Oliver came to see Catherine and me after midnight to ask what happened with Billy Martin – and I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to tell him, but we talked for a while and I realized that he and Felicity were never going to be in a good place with her keeping a secret from him. So I told him what happened in the basement." He hesitated and added, "Catherine was okay with it, and she's almost as protective as J.T."

Diggle regarded his friend steadily. "Are you going to tell _me_?" he asked.

Vincent shrugged half-heartedly. "At this point, I suppose I don't have a reason not to. Hell, if I can trust Starling's playboy billionaire, I should be able to trust a fellow soldier." He still sounded doubtful, as if he were trying to convince himself. Digg wondered if it was harder for him to make up his mind because Catherine wasn't here to confirm his decision.

Once more, he waited and said nothing.

After a minute Vincent continued, speaking slowly as if the words were being pulled out of him. "The thing that Oliver wanted to know, the reason I was able to defeat Billy Martin when he turned into a Beast last night in the basement?" He paused. "Well…it's because Billy's not the only Beast in New York. _I_ can transform into one, too." He raised his eyes cautiously to look at Diggle, measuring his reaction.

Digg opened his mouth to reply…and then stopped. That sure as hell was _not_ what he had been expecting. He'd been expecting Vincent to say that he worked for the CIA, military intelligence, or some other spy agency, and that his assignment was to search out the…what was he calling them?... _Beasts_ to find out how and why they were created. He'd expected Vincent to say that he had some kind of neutralizing drug or special weapon that disabled Beasts, like kryptonite disabled Superman. He'd expected to hear that Vincent's intelligence assignment had led him from the army to New York City and Catherine. All of those things made some kind of sense, and Vincent had always struck him as a sensible guy.

Apparently Digg's instincts weren't as good as he thought.

"When?" he finally asked, unsure of where to begin.

"When did I become a Beast?" Vincent clarified.

"Yeah."

"In my second year of military service. The army was trying to create the perfect super-soldier. I was part of the group they experimented on. They called it Operation Muirfield."

" _Experimented_ ," Diggle repeated in a flat voice, not liking the word. "Experimented how, exactly?"

"Genetic modification via daily injections. We thought we were getting vitamins and other supplements. In reality, they were splicing non-human genes into our DNA sequence, creating cross-species DNA."

"And those genes turned you into… _Beasts_?"

"Yes, although it wasn't apparent immediately. In the beginning, it looked like the experiment was an incredible success. We were stronger and faster, and could stay awake for days at a time without any loss of performance. We were amazing soldiers."

"So what went wrong?"

"Over time, our capacity for self-control and rational thought diminished. Any situation that triggered an adrenaline spike led to an animal-like response. We could perform amazing physical feats but we were just as likely to attack a friend as an enemy, and once we started fighting we couldn't make ourselves stop."

Digg could guess at what came next. He'd had enough experience in the military to know how big failures were dealt with. "And so the army killed the program," he said matter-of-factly, "and got rid of any evidence that Operation Muirfield ever existed by killing off the test subjects as well. That's why we were told that you were killed in action."

"Exactly."

"Except you seem to have made it out very much alive."

Vincent shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth for the first time since J.T. had left. "I did. Beasts are not easy to kill – as the army discovered. I managed to get back to New York and J.T. hid me for years because Muirfield was constantly trying to find me and eliminate me. I might still be hiding out if it weren't for Catherine."

"She got rid of Muirfield?" To Digg, it seemed like a big conspiracy for one New York detective to take on by herself, no matter how capable she was.

Vincent shook his head. "Not entirely on her own, but she convinced me that it was worth fighting them to have a real life again. It's a long story that we should probably save for another time, but without her persistence I wouldn't be able to walk around in public or practice medicine again. She's the reason I was able to come out of hiding. Of course, no one beyond Catherine, Tess and J.T. knows that I'm a Beast. People just believe I'm a soldier who was left for dead overseas and eventually managed to find his way home. It could still all fall apart if my alter ego is discovered."

Diggle sat back and thought about what Vincent had just told him. His friend, his former colleague in arms, had become something that was not quite human – at least not human all of the time. It was shocking, to say the least, although not as shocking as it might have been a couple of years ago before he'd seen men that had been transformed by Mirakuru or met a billionaire who'd trained himself to be a hard-as-nails vigilante. Ever since he'd teamed up with Oliver Queen, Digg had begun to appreciate that the world had a lot of grey in it; black and white was the exception rather than the rule. So…his former army pal, Vincent, was a Beast. The reality was the man hadn't had much choice in the matter; he'd been changed without his consent or knowledge. And Vincent seemed determined to do good in the world – to _be_ good. Looking over at his friend, at his mild brown eyes and the hands that saved lives every day in the ER, Digg resolved that he was going to be okay with the whole _Beast thing_. Besides, if a woman like Catherine Chandler - a cop and clearly honorable woman - was on board with it, who was Diggle to say differently?

"If it makes you feel any better," he said at last, "Lyla often compares me to a number of animals before I've had my coffee first thing in the morning. _Bear_ is usually at the top of her list, although every now and then she mentions an _ox_." He kept his tone light and free of judgment.

Vincent laughed, clearly relieved. "Catherine does the same thing. Maybe I'm not so abnormal after all."

Digg smiled ruefully. "The longer I live in this world, the more I realize that there really isn't such a thing as _normal._ We're all a little warped in some way. The trick is to find people who care about us in spite of it." After a short pause, he added, "And if I haven't told you already, I like Catherine. She seems like an amazing woman."

"She is," Vincent's voice was proud. "She's smart and brave, and always tries to find the good in a situation. Kind of like your friend, Felicity."

"Felicity?" Digg mulled that over and had to agree that the description fit.

Vincent chuckled. "She was a real trooper in Martin's basement last night. She kept her head, and reacted to my Beasting-out as if she sees weird stuff like that happen every day. I expected her to scream and cower in a corner, and instead we ended up drinking wine and having a calm discussion. There are not many women – not many _people_ – who would handle the situation that way. And I believe her when she says she can keep a secret. She's rare."

Digg nodded. Of course he'd known Felicity was remarkable, but hearing someone else say it reminded him how lucky they were to have her on the team. He and Oliver had come to expect miracles from Felicity, and he didn't think he could remember the last time they'd said 'thank you' when she'd produced one. He made a resolution to be a better friend going forward.

"I gave Oliver some advice about her." Vincent's voice broke into his thoughts.

"You did _what_?" Digg thought he must have misheard. He knew from experience that giving Oliver advice about Felicity was a bit like holding a lit stick of dynamite in the rain; it might fizzle out, or it might blow up and take your head off. Seeing that Vincent's head was still attached to his body, Digg assumed the conversation must have fizzled out - or perhaps even gone okay.

"I gave Oliver some advice about Felicity," Vincent repeated. "He reminds me a lot of me when I first met Catherine. I didn't think I could be with anyone either, so I kept pushing her away. It was a bad idea. Eventually I figured out that she _wanted_ to help me deal with the bad stuff in my life – that keeping her out of it only made her unhappy. And we're better when we're together – we've proven it time and again. So that's what I told Oliver. I told him Felicity struck me as a woman who can handle his…issues…and it would be a shame to waste an opportunity to be with someone who cared for him and accepted him just as he is."

"His issues?" Digg asked curiously, zeroing in on the word. Just how much did Vincent know about Oliver's _issues_? What else besides Beasts had they discussed last night?

He looked over to see Vincent regarding him carefully, as if the doctor could read Digg's thoughts. "Oliver was trying to get me to talk," Vincent explained. "He told me a few…private things… in order to encourage me to tell him _my_ secret. He said Felicity knew about those…things, and was even helping him with them. That's when I gave him the advice."

Diggle frowned. The biggest _private thing_ he could imagine Oliver sharing would be his penchant for archery and green leather. Was it possible he had gone as far as revealing he was The Arrow? After all, the man hadn't always been circumspect about his secret identity; he'd told Helena, Tommy, Roy, Sara, and now Laurel - not to mention Nyssa and a good chunk of the League of Assassins. Would he tell Vincent in order to find out what had happened in Martin's basement and relieve Felicity of the burden of hiding something from him? Digg decided there was a decent chance that he would. Digg also decided, however, that it would still be good idea to proceed carefully because – seriously – how bad would it be if he blurted out that Oliver was The Arrow when, in fact, Oliver had shared something entirely different? The man had a _lot_ of secrets. Maybe he'd talked about the island or his father. Digg felt the situation called for caution.

Looking warily at Vincent, he asked, "Are you saying that Oliver told you about his…other job?"

Vincent frowned. " _Other job_ ," he repeated slowly. "You mean his other job besides being CEO?"

"Yes."

Vincent's brow creased. "He didn't call it another _job_ ," he said carefully. He stopped and stared at Diggle, unwilling to say anything further. Evidently, he had decided the situation called for caution as well.

_Great_ , Digg thought, _we're playing chicken with revealing Oliver's secret_. He tried again. "How about we call it his other, demanding, _unpaid_ job?"

Vincent brow creased further. "Yeah - I'm pretty sure there's no pay involved. Still don't know about the _job_ part, though."

Digg sighed. Damn Oliver and his secrets and damn Vincent for keeping them. He decided the _job_ angle was a dead-end. "Okay," he said briskly, "how about I use the word _activity_? Oliver's unpaid, very physical _activity_ that requires a lot of hand-eye coordination. How does that work?"

Vincent thought about that. There was a small gleam in his eye. "Yes, it definitely would be physical and I believe there would be hand-eye coordination involved," he agreed.

"And Felicity's helping him with it?"

"Yes."

What the hell else could it be but being The Arrow? Diggle was fairly certain Felicity wasn't helping Oliver get physical in any other kind of _activity_. First of all, Digg would know about it; and secondly, the two of them would be a lot less tense. He decided it was time to just say it. If he didn't, he and Vincent might be playing twenty questions all night.

"Oliver told you he's The Arrow," he said flatly.

Vincent sat back and exhaled loudly. "Oh, thank God," he said. "I thought we weren't going to get there. Yes, he told me he's The Arrow and that Felicity works with him. Since you know, I assume you must work with him as well? After all, he clearly doesn't need you to be his bodyguard."

Diggle nodded. "Yes, I work with him. Been his partner for a couple of years now."

"What on earth possessed you to team up with a billionaire-turned-vigilante?"

Diggle shrugged. "I really did start out as Oliver's bodyguard. It was clear right from the start that he wasn't the idle, superficial guy he pretended to be and that he'd had some kind of training. I didn't find out he was The Arrow, though, until one night when I was shot with a poison-laced bullet. Oliver took me to his hide-out and saved my life."

"And that's when you joined him?"

Digg shook his head. "Not immediately. It took Oliver a while to persuade me that I could do some good for the city by working with him. Felicity became a part of the team a couple of months after that."

"The three of you seem pretty tight."

Digg nodded. "We are. We've been through some scary shit together."

Vincent looked thoughtful. "That's why you referred to Felicity as a fellow soldier."

"Excuse me?"

"Tuesday night, when we talked on her phone. You called her a fellow soldier and I thought it was kind of strange. I get it, now."

Digg grinned weakly. "Yeah, I'd go into battle with her and Oliver any day. They're both pretty incredible." He paused. "Look, I normally don't like when Oliver tells someone he's The Arrow, but I'm glad that you and he exchanged secrets. Felicity really _was_ going to be miserable if she had to keep something from him. And it will make conversations between all of us a lot easier. It was going to get tricky keeping track of who knows what."

Vincent frowned. "You're forgetting one thing."

"What's that?"

"J.T. doesn't know Oliver's The Arrow. More importantly, he also doesn't know I told you about being a Beast."

Diggle mulled that over. "And when he finds out, he's not going to be happy?"

"Damn straight."

* * *

 

Contrary to Felicity's dire predictions, Oliver did not end up wearing her breakfast as a result of their ride on the Cyclone. She clung to him fiercely for the three minutes the roller coaster was in motion, but all food and drink stayed on the appropriate end of her esophagus. She emerged from their car with shaky legs and a voice hoarse from screaming, but otherwise seemed fine. Oliver didn't think it was a good idea to ask her if she wanted to ride again, as much as he wanted to. He already suspected his forearm was going to be sore from where she had gripped it with her surprisingly strong, small hand. Two rides in succession and he might not be able to lift the bow when they returned home.

She tucked that same hand more gently into the crook of his arm and continued to lean on him as they exited the ride and began strolling through Luna Park. Oliver didn't think she intended the gesture to be flirtatious. She still seemed shaken by the Cyclone and he guessed that her energy level was low from skipping lunch. Felicity had refused to eat a hot dog before the roller coaster, saying that she didn't want to tempt fate any more than was necessary. He thought she could probably use a bite now.

"Want to find Nathan's?" he asked her. "I don't know about you, but I'm starved."

She grinned weakly. "Yes, I think it's probably safe to eat, unless you're going to make us ride the Thunderbolt next."

He shook his head. "One roller coaster is enough, I promise. You did great, though. Did you enjoy it?"

She frowned. "I'd love to tell you that I'm as wild and brave as Sara and had a great time, but the reality is I kept my eyes shut and held onto you. I'm glad it's over."

He chuckled. "You don't need to be like Sara. You have your own talents. Anyway, I thought we could grab a hot dog and wander out onto the beach. Coney Island has really soft sand. Not like the rocks on Lian Yu."

"Sounds good."

She kept her hand on his arm as they headed toward Nathan's. He liked it; it felt surprisingly natural, the same way that waking up together this morning had felt natural, or laughing during their carriage ride in Central Park had felt natural. He thought about what Vincent had said last night, how Felicity was someone who could handle his secret and it would be shame to lose that – to lose her. For Oliver, that wasn't exactly news. Felicity had been on board with him being The Arrow for two years and he was certainly aware how much it helped to have a friend who knew his secret. What _had_ caught him by surprise this week was the realization that their relationship went deeper than her knowledge of his other identity. Sara, after all, knew more _facts_ about him than Felicity. She knew he was The Arrow and she knew much of what had happened on Lian Yu. Yet his connection to her didn't feel as strong as his connection to Felicity. He couldn't help thinking that Felicity _really_ saw him – not just his actions, but his heart, his dreams and his true intentions, even when things didn't work out the way he planned. She saw his darkness and accepted it, but she also saw his light – or at least his potential for light. It brought a level of truth to their friendship that was amazing…and occasionally frightening.

In a flash of insight, he realized that lack of honesty in his relationships was a characteristic that extended back further than the island, maybe even earlier than his teenage years. It wasn't just about cheating on girlfriends, although he'd certainly done plenty of that. It was about failing to be himself, about putting up walls and pretending to be something he wasn't. With Laurel, he had feigned a devotion that hadn't existed. With Tommy, he had pretended to be carefree, even when something hurt him deeply. He had subscribed to the notion that opening yourself up meant exposing a weakness, becoming unnecessarily vulnerable. He suspected he still subscribed to that notion. It was just that with Felicity, he didn't seem to mind when she saw the real him. Perhaps because he knew she would never take advantage of his weaknesses.

They located Nathan's and ordered hot dogs and fries; enough fat and sodium, Oliver figured, for at least ten people. The food smelled amazing, though, and he decided he wasn't going to worry about nutrition this afternoon. In the process of loading up the takeout bag with napkins and small packets of ketchup, Felicity let go of his arm. He found he missed the contact. As they left Nathan's, he reached down with his free hand and gently clasped hers. She wiggled her fingers uncertainly before entwining them in his.

They were within sight of the beach when Oliver heard a woman's voice call out, "Hey there. Want me to tell you your fortune?"

He looked around and spotted a booth sporting a sign that said, "The Amazing Zelda." In smaller letters under her name, the sign added, "Fortunes Guaranteed to Come True." He wondered if you got your money back if your fortune didn't come to pass. Somehow, he doubted it. There was a middle-aged woman in the booth, with the requisite black wig and heavy eyeliner – an attempt to look like a gypsy, he supposed. Her real name was probably something like Carol Smith.

"Want me to tell you your fortune?" she repeated. "Handsome young couple like yourselves, you must wonder what's in your future. I can tell you, for twenty dollars."

Oliver glanced down at Felicity. He wasn't surprised to see her wearing a skeptical expression. Felicity was a scientist, after all, and more likely to believe the predictions made by algorithms run on her computers than the words of someone claiming to be a psychic. Oliver, on the other hand, was less inclined to dismiss the mystical. He'd seen enough on the island to know there were plenty of things that science couldn't explain. In this particular case, however, he didn't think The Amazing Zelda had a direct pipeline to the future. He was pretty confident she was just a suburban housewife dressed up to earn grocery money. He suspected his expression mirrored Felicity's.

Before he could answer, Felicity replied to the woman, "Thank you, but no thank you. We already know our immediate future involves hot dogs and fries on the beach. After that, we'll take it as it comes." The words might have been facetious, but Felicity's smile was kind and The Amazing Zelda shrugged and smiled back. Oliver guessed that her services were often declined.

Still, the fortune-teller gave it one more try. "Your lives have always been entwined, you know," she said. "And they will remain entwined for as long as you live, even though you may not always be together. Your joint life-force is strong – I can see it from over here."

Felicity looked up at Oliver and rolled her eyes. " _Our joint life-force is strong_? I'm pretty sure she says that to everyone," she said in a low voice. "Standard material, guaranteed to please the customers. _Your lives are entwined_ … _your love_ is _destined_. The truth is you walked into my office with a busted laptop. And she can't be much of a psychic when she doesn't even see that we're not a couple." She shook her head. "Let's get to the beach. I'm really ready for the food." She started walking again, pulling Oliver along by their still-clasped hands.

"I see an interruption in that life-force," Zelda continued, calling out after them. "One or both of you may experience death – although it will not be a true death. As long as the two of you can find each other, real death will not touch either of you for a long time. Your combined life-force is that strong." Her voice faltered and Oliver had the sense that she had surprised herself. He didn't think this last statement was part of her standard fortune-teller routine.

He stopped walking and turned to stare at the woman. She returned his stare with a perplexed frown, as if he and Felicity were alien beings, outside her realm of experience. After a few seconds, she shrank back into her booth, apparently finished observing their life-force. He pondered going over to ask her what she had meant, but Felicity tugged on his hand. "Please tell me you don't buy any of that crap," she said lightly. "For all we know, she recognized you and is familiar with the news stories of you coming back to life after five years on the island. Let's get to the beach. It's a beautiful afternoon and the only life-force I want to think about comes from the potatoes that died in order to become crispy crinkle fries."

Oliver laughed, even though he couldn't dismiss the woman quite as easily as Felicity. "Fair enough," he said.

They got to the beach and sat on the soft sand, warm from the sun's fall rays. Felicity applied ketchup liberally to her fries and tucked into them with gusto. The ketchup stained her lips and a drop lingered at the corner of her mouth, even after her fries and hot dog were gone. It made her look very young, giving Oliver a sense of Felicity as a teenager or even a child. She must have been adorable. He was sorry he hadn't known her then, although if he believed The Amazing Zelda, their life-forces had already become entwined – they just hadn't known it. He grinned at her.

"What?" Felicity asked, frowning.

Oliver chuckled. "You've got a spot of ketchup on your face. I didn't realize how much you like it. I don't remember you using this much when we eat at Big Belly. To be honest, I wasn't sure just now if you were having ketchup on your fries or fries with your ketchup. "

"I like the ketchup that comes in the packets. When it's warmed by the sun and eaten outside, it tastes better than the stuff in a bottle." She pointed to the takeout bag. "Hand me a napkin."

Oliver reached for the bag and then stopped. "I have a better idea," he said gently. And before he could second-guess himself, he leaned toward her and kissed her softly on the mouth, making sure to capture the corner with the ketchup. Then he sat back. Her face was clean.

The kiss couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds, but Oliver could have sworn he felt the sand shift underneath him. Her full lips were as soft as he'd always imagined – maybe even softer – and after a second's hesitation, they had moved in tentative accord with his. The kiss had been too short to be passionate, but a shade too long to be a peck between friends. He wasn't sure why he had done it, other than the joy of the day, the warmth of the sun on his back, and the peace he felt being with Felicity.

Felicity opened her eyes and stared at him, as if she doubted the reality of what had just happened.

"Oliver, did you just-"

He nodded and decided not to overthink it. "I like ketchup, too."

* * *

 

It had been a while since Vincent had done any real male-bonding. J.T. wasn't opposed to kicking back with a beer now and then, but he and Vincent were typically joined by Catherine and Tess and it changed the dynamic considerably. As great as the girls were, certain topics and activities became off limits.

So Vincent took advantage of the few hours he and Diggle had by themselves to share a six pack, talk sports, and joke about the idiosyncrasies of their girlfriends. They ordered a pizza for lunch, topped with four kinds of processed meat and absolutely no vegetables. They turned on a college football game and put their feet up on the coffee table as they watched. And they made no effort to suppress their beer belches. It was good, manly stuff.

Catherine returned to J.T.'s in the mid-afternoon, still sipping the green smoothie that served as her lunch. She took a long look at the empty pizza box and beer bottles and shook her head.

"I guess I don't have to ask what you two have been up to," she said dryly.

From his seat on the sofa, Vincent waved his beer bottle at her and grinned. "Look on the bright side – we stayed out of trouble."

She laughed. "I think it depends on your definition of trouble. I'm sure you've done at least one thing J.T. can worry about."

Vincent sobered instantly. "Well, that's certainly true." _Might as well get it out of the way_ , he thought. He looked up at Catherine cautiously. "I probably should tell you that I gave Digg the full story on Beasts. And I mean the full story."

The smile faded from her face and she glanced between him and Diggle. After a minute she nodded. "I thought you might." She fixed her gaze on Digg. "You don't seem too disturbed by it."

He shrugged. "Hey, we all have our quirks."

A smaller version of her smile reemerged. "We do, don't we? I guess that's why we have friends who can overlook them. Thank you for being such a good friend to Vincent." Her eyes were warm as she looked at Diggle.

Digg basked in that warmth for a few seconds before turning to Vincent. "Is this the part where your girlfriend hugs me?" he asked. "Because I wouldn't mind at all if she did."

Vincent shook his head. "She's supposed to hug me first." Still seated, he held out his arms and Catherine came over to the sofa and stepped into them. She leaned down to kiss him below the ear. As always, her touch made Vincent feel as if he'd found something he hadn't known was missing. "Speaking of friends," he added, "where's Tess?"

Catherine straightened, but didn't leave his embrace. "She went to the college to see J.T.," she said. "I think she was going to take him out to lunch."

Vincent nodded. "I hope she gets a few drinks into him, too, because he's going to hit the ceiling when he finds out I told Digg about being a Beast."

Catherine laughed. "He sure is." She sat down on the sofa next to Vincent and pointed toward the television. "Who's playing?"

"Auburn and Clemson."

"Holy crap, good game." She raised her eyebrows hopefully. "Any beer left?"

Vincent glanced at Diggle. "I think there might be one."

"Well, hand it over."

Vincent complied, and the three of them settled back to watch the rest of the game. He couldn't help but appreciate the normalcy of it. Three friends watching a football game on a Saturday afternoon – one of whom was his very beautiful and amazing girlfriend. It was a long cry from hiding out in a warehouse with J.T. He hoped he never took moments like this for granted.

The rest of the afternoon went by quickly. Clemson won the game on a field goal with ten seconds left, and it was close to 6:00 when the door opened and J.T. walked in. He looked at the three of them seated on the sofa. "Well, hello," he said cheerfully. "This looks cozy." He peered carefully at Vincent. "Did you have a good afternoon?" Vincent was pretty sure the question was code for: _I hope you didn't tell Diggle your secret._ He sighed quietly to himself and started to think through his explanation. The tranquility of the afternoon was about to be shattered.

Before he could say anything, however, Catherine asked, "Where's Tess? Did she head for home after lunch?"

J.T. frowned. "What do you mean, _where's Tess_?" he asked. "I haven't seen her today."

Catherine stared at him, perplexed. "She went to your office to ask you out to lunch – at least four hours ago."

J.T. shook his head. "I wasn't in my office. I spent the afternoon in the lab with a grad student helping him with his experiment."

"And she didn't call you?"

"No." Just as J.T. uttered the word, his phone began vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and stared at it. "Ah, this is her, now." He smiled and raised the phone to his ear. "Tess?"

Vincent watched the smile fade from J.T.'s face and transform into an angry glare as he listened to his phone. After a few seconds, J.T. said tersely, "If you hurt her..." He listened again, his forehead wrinkling in consternation. Vincent could sense his heartbeat accelerating and could smell the adrenaline as it flowed through J.T.'s body. After another long minute, J.T. dropped his hand to his side, the call over. "They have Tess," he said shortly. "The Martin brothers kidnapped Tess and say they'll release her when I give Billy a cure…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I am committed to finishing this story. I really appreciate the people who continue to read, comment and give kudos. It means a lot.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to folks who continued to read, kudos and comment on this story, despite the lengthy hiatus. Your encouragement to get my ass in gear and write was huge motivation.  
> I've known for some time how the story will end. It's just the actual process of writing that I sometimes struggle with. I know you writers get that...

Oliver found himself smiling as he opened the door to J.T.'s place. It was a little after 6:00 and he was tired; the good kind of tired that follows a day outdoors in the sunshine with few worries beyond Felicity's ability to retain her breakfast on the roller coaster. Felicity was smiling too, her hair disheveled from the ocean breeze and a slight sunburn on her nose. She really was easy to be with, he thought. He didn't have to watch every word that came out of his mouth and he didn't have to pretend interest in things that had no interest for him. She'd even been smart enough not to mention their sort-of-kiss on the beach for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe she hadn't wanted to spoil it by talking about it. Or maybe, like him, she was trying not to read too much into it.

"What do you think we should do tomorrow?" he asked, putting his hand on her lower back to steer her toward J.T.'s large living room. He wondered if Diggle was still there with Keller, or if they, too, had gone out for the day.

She grinned and replied, "Let me think-"

And then her grin faded.

Looking up, he immediately saw why. Digg, Keller, Catherine and J.T. stood in a cluster by the sofa, staring anxiously at J.T's phone as if they were expecting it to ring at any moment. It was clear from their expressions that they were not anticipating good news. J.T., in particular, appeared to be on the verge of an anxiety attack.

"What happened?" Oliver asked.

It was Diggle who answered. "The Martins have kidnapped Tess," he said. "They think J.T. has a cure for Billy's… _condition_ …and they're holding her until he gives it to him."

Felicity turned to Keller, her forehead creased with worry. "That doesn't make sense," she said. "We told Billy when we were down in the basement that there is no cure. Why would they think that there is one?"

The doctor shook his head helplessly. "I don't know."

"Do you know where they're keeping her?" Oliver asked.

As soon as he spoke, he knew that it was a stupid question. If they were aware of Tess's location, neither Diggle nor Keller would be standing here; they'd be attempting her rescue. Two ex-military men wouldn't twiddle their thumbs if they had a shot at recovering a hostage.

Thankfully, Diggle didn't point that out. Instead, he simply said, "The Martins phoned J.T. on his cell fifteen minutes ago and told him that they've got Tess. They're giving him until tomorrow morning to get some doses of the cure ready and said they'd call back later with specific instructions for making an exchange - we don't know exactly when."

"Did they provide any _proof_ that they've got her and that she's still…unharmed?" Oliver had almost said _alive,_ which probably would have pushed J.T. into a complete panic. As it was, the man groaned and buried his head in his hands. Oliver noticed that those hands were shaking.

Catherine glanced sympathetically at J.T. and replied, "They called using Tess's cell. She's been missing since lunchtime, so we don't think they're lying about having her. We'll ask to talk to her to make sure she's all right when they call back." Her voice was matter-of-fact and Oliver realized she was operating in detective-mode, suppressing her fears for her friend. It couldn't have been easy and he took a moment to appreciate her steadiness in a crisis.

Catherine turned to Felicity. "Do you think you can locate Tess's phone? Digg said you've been able to find people that way in Starling."

Felicity nodded slowly. "I could," she began, "but it will take time. If the Martins have any brains at all, they'll have shut off the GPS. I can get around that, but my custom tracking software is heavily calibrated for cell towers on the west coast. I may have to tweak it, and the population density in New York City will make it difficult." She looked at Keller. "It might be quicker for Vincent to try tracking them."

J.T.'s head snapped up out of his hands. "Track them?" he asked. "What do you mean, Vincent should _track them_?"

Felicity stared at him. "You know, use his Beast senses to find them." As soon as the words were out of her mouth she blushed and glanced guiltily at Diggle.

 _Oh shit - that's right_ , Oliver thought, _Digg doesn't know_. He hadn't been there last night when Keller had told Oliver about being a Beast - and Felicity had just blurted it out. It was unusual for her to slip up, but like Oliver, she was accustomed to the three of them sharing secrets. It probably felt natural, especially during an emergency, to say whatever might help.

 _Or maybe_ , a little voice in his head said, _that kind-of-kiss on the beach has her off balance_. _She's been a little quiet ever since_. He felt a pleasant warmth at the notion that his kiss had discomposed her – and immediately decided he wasn't going to read too much into _that_ , either.

He looked over at Diggle in time to catch him exchanging a small shrug with Keller. He couldn't help noticing that Digg didn't appear at all perplexed by Felicity's _Beast_ comment and that Keller also didn't seem particularly worried. The only way that made sense was if the two army buddies had had the _Beast Talk_ during the day. He wondered what had made Keller decide to tell Digg.

J.T., missing the Digg-Keller nonverbal exchange, looked ready to jump out of his skin. He laughed nervously. "Why…why would Vincent have Beast senses, Felicity? I think you're confusing him with Billy Martin. _He's_ the Beast."

She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything Keller held up his hand. "It's okay, J.T.," he said. "Oliver and Digg both know."

A relieved expression passed over Felicity's face.

"They do?" J.T.'s mouth hung open for a few seconds as he stared at his friend. Then he shot Felicity a disappointed look. "I told you she wouldn't keep it a secret, Vincent."

"Actually," Keller replied, "Felicity never said a word – at least not until now. _I_ told them."

"You did?" J.T. grimaced. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Keller gave Catherine a small smile before replying, "I saw John Diggle in action in Afghanistan, J.T., and I trust him – the same way I trust you and Catherine. Keeping him in the dark about who I really am was going to get in the way." He didn't say anything about Oliver. Oliver figured _his_ situation was more difficult to explain, especially if Keller was going to keep _The Arrow_ part a secret.

J.T. bristled. "Seriously, Vincent? Get in the way of what? Afghanistan was over ten years ago and you haven't seen Diggle since then. What on earth made you think it was okay to tell him something that could put you behind bars, or even worse, in a lab?" He turned to Catherine. "Don't tell me you're on board with this?"

"J.T.-"she began.

"Not to mention telling Queen." J.T. continued, gesturing at Oliver. "He doesn't exactly have a reputation for discretion. For all we know-"

"J.T.!" Keller interrupted sharply. "Focus! Right now we need to figure out how to find Tess, not argue about my judgment in telling people I'm a Beast."

"Or lack of-"

"J.T.!" Keller snapped again and held up his hand. "I promise you can chew me out about not keeping my secret later - _after_ we get Tess back. But for now, let's just get her back."

J.T. gave him a long look and eventually nodded. It was clear, however, that fears for his girlfriend didn't completely eclipse concerns for his best friend. Oliver had only recently met J.T., but he suspected the man was a world-class worrier, with the capacity to fret about multiple things simultaneously. He also suspected there would be a lecture for him and Digg sometime in the near future about the importance of keeping Keller's secret.

For the moment, he was happy not to hear it. His mind was already racing with thoughts on how to recover Tess. He turned to Diggle. "What else do we know?" he asked.

Digg shook his head. "Not much. Cat and Tess worked together this morning, and finished around 1:00 in the afternoon. Tess said she was going to go to the college to meet J.T. but never made it to his office. Then, like I said, J.T. got the call from Jeff Martin about fifteen minutes ago telling him that they had her."

Digg was right – it wasn't much to work with. Oliver had had enough experience with abductions to know that time mattered; the longer things dragged out, the more likely the hostage would be moved or – worse - killed. They needed to do something other than wait for the next call. He looked at Keller. "Can you really track people?"

Keller nodded. "It's not foolproof, but I've had pretty good luck in the past."

"Then why don't you try tracking Tess while Felicity tries to locate her phone," Oliver suggested. "That way we increase our odds of finding her quickly. We keep in touch and call when either one thinks they've located her."

Keller hesitated. "The risk with my tracking Tess is that Billy Martin can use _his_ Beast senses to figure out that I'm coming. Then he and Jeff move her and we end up chasing them." He exhaled loudly. "On the other hand, Billy doesn't seem very attuned to all the things he can do as a Beast yet. I might be able to get pretty close without him figuring it out." He turned to Catherine. "What do you think?"

She looked up at him thoughtfully. "I think we should do it," she said after a short pause. "We don't have a lot of options. I can't risk bringing this to the precinct if a Beast is involved. It will be too hard to explain and it will put police officers in jeopardy if I can't tell them what they're up against. So we're going to have to get her back ourselves. Given what Felicity said about tracking the phone, it makes sense to add a second approach."

J.T. glanced between Catherine and Keller and frowned angrily. "Wait a minute," he said. "We're taking orders from _Queen_ now? Starling City's jetsetter? What the hell does he know about recovering kidnap victims?"

Keller turned briefly to Oliver with an expression that seemed to say: _It might help if J.T. knows you're The Arrow, but it's up to you whether you tell_ _him. I'm not going to share your secret_. Aloud, he said to J.T., "Do you have any better ideas? Because if you do, now would be a good time to say them."

J.T. stared at him and eventually shook his head. "No," he said reluctantly, "I don't have another idea."

"Then I'm going to try to track them." Keller put his hand gently on Catherine's shoulder. "Where was the last place you saw Tess?"

"I dropped her off outside J.T.'s office building at the college."

"Okay." Keller began walking to the door.

"Shouldn't someone go with you?" Diggle asked.

Keller paused and turned. "No. I can travel pretty fast... it will be tough to keep up. If I do find her, I won't make a move unless it looks like recovering her is a slam dunk. Otherwise, I'll call."

Diggle nodded. "Fair enough. And _we'll_ call if we manage to track Tess's phone."

Keller nodded back. Then he was out the door.

* * *

J.T.'s heart wouldn't stop pounding. Vincent had left three hours ago to track Tess and they hadn't heard a word from him. His cell remained silent; the Martin brothers hadn't called with further instructions. And Felicity, hunched over the computer keyboard and typing furiously, didn't have Tess's location - although she seemed fairly confident that the cell phone was somewhere in Brooklyn. Given that Brooklyn comprised 70 square miles of New York City, J.T. wasn't ready to cheer. She could have just as easily said that Tess was in New Jersey and they would have had the same chance of finding her. Felicity needed to narrow it down.

And as if having a kidnapped girlfriend wasn't bad enough, J.T. couldn't get over the feeling that he was being kept in the dark about something else – _by his friends_. Because Cat's behavior, as well as Vincent's before he left, just didn't make sense. Vincent had almost casually let drop that he'd told Diggle and Queen about being a Beast without offering any real explanation for his recklessness. And Cat, who was normally as protective of Vincent as a lioness is of her cubs, didn't seem terribly upset about it.

Vincent spilling the beans to Diggle…well… J.T. could sort of understand that one. He didn't like it, but he appreciated that Digg had served in the army with Vincent and built up a certain level of trust. But _Queen_? What the hell was up with that? They'd only met the man three days ago and there was absolutely nothing in his reputation that labeled him as trustworthy. The only thing he'd ever done of note was manage to stay alive on a deserted island for five years.

But here was Cat, treating him as if he were an _equal_ when it came to hostage recovery. The two of them stood behind Felicity's chair, studying sections of Brooklyn as Felicity brought the maps to the screen, pointing out possible locations. Queen was saying something about the likelihood of Tess being held in a residential area and Cat was nodding seriously as if the man were part of the FBI's Missing Persons unit. J.T. wanted to shake her and tell her that this was _Tess_ they were trying to find – her best friend and partner – and that she shouldn't be wasting time listening to Queen. But he knew it wouldn't help, and as much as it killed him to admit it, he didn't have anything better to offer.

"I've got it down to four blocks," Felicity was saying, pointing to the screen.

Cat turned to Queen. "You were right," she said. "It's not a residential area – it's the Tech Triangle."

The Tech Triangle? Was that significant, J.T. wondered?

Diggle leaned forward to study the map. "It looks like it's mostly office buildings," he said. "How many do you think there are in the four block area?"

Queen stared at the map as well. "Too many to search one-by-one. Felicity, you've got to get closer." It was a command, not a request. From the way he said it, J.T. got the feeling Queen was used to issuing commands.

He could see Felicity's spine stiffen as she sat up in her chair. "I'm trying, Oliver," she said shortly.

"I know." Queen's voice was apologetic and he placed his right hand on her shoulder. To J.T., it almost looked like a caress. A little of the tension left her body and she started typing even faster.

"I think-" she started to say, but then was interrupted by Catherine's cell phone ringing in her jeans pocket.

Cat yanked it out and stared at it. "It's Vincent," she said. "I'll put it on speaker." She tapped the screen and put the phone on the desk. "Vincent?"

"Catherine." Vincent sounded a little breathless. "I think I've found the building."

"Is it in Brooklyn?" Cat asked.

"Yes. How did you know?"

Oliver answered him. "Felicity traced Tess's phone to the Tech Triangle in Brooklyn. If you've tracked Tess there too, we must be getting close. Which building do you think she's in?"

"It says _Velograph_ over the door. Wasn't that the name of William Martin's company?"

It was Felicity's turn to answer. "Yes," she said, "Velograph was William Martin's company…but he sold it. I don't know who owns the building now." She typed feverishly and then scanned the paragraph that came up on the computer. "It looks like Martin still owns the property and leases it out to the current owners of the company." She went back to the four-block map of Brooklyn and enlarged it. "It's in the same four blocks that I placed Tess's cell phone in. That makes it even more probable that she's there." She sounded pleased. "I'll pull up the building specs."

Fifteen seconds later the screen was covered with what looked to J.T. like organized spaghetti. To Felicity, however, it seemed perfectly clear. She traced her finger along several of the lines. "Oh," she said, sounding disappointed. "Oh, crap."

"What?" J.T. asked. "Why 'oh crap?'"

Felicity sighed. "It's the building where Velograph does classified work. It's got security out the ying-yang – all kinds of metal doors controlled by electronic locks."

There was a quiet chuckle on the other end of the phone. "Felicity," Vincent said in a low voice, "When I'm fully Beasted-out, I can rip doors off their hinges. A few electronic locks shouldn't be a problem."

"I understand that," she replied, "but in a building like this there will also be cameras. Everywhere. And there's a good chance a real person will be monitoring them; they won't just be recording. Even if I hack in and erase the footage, someone will probably see you as a Beast."

"Can you take the cameras down?" Oliver asked.

She nodded. "Yes, but I don't know how long I can _keep_ them down. I'm sure they've got backup systems and the guards will probably begin patrolling on foot. Unless Vincent can find Tess and get her out of there in five minutes, the Martins will figure out that something's wrong. We'll lose the element of surprise." She looked down at Cat's phone. "Vincent - do you have any idea of where she is in the building – which room or even which floor?"

"No."

Felicity shook her head. "Then we've got a problem. It's a twenty story building. It will take time to search floor by floor, even with your Beast-speed. I may not be able to keep the cameras down long enough."

J.T. frowned. "If security's so tight, how the hell did the Martins get Tess in there?" he asked. "Wouldn't _they_ be spotted on the cameras?"

Oliver glanced briefly at Diggle and replied, "Since their father owns the building, the Martins probably got badges at one time or another. My guess is they dressed like employees and just walked in this afternoon using the badges for access. Security didn't question it."

"And Tess?" J.T. asked. "I doubt she was willing to just walk in."

"She was probably sedated," Diggle said. "The Martin's shot Felicity up with something when they tried to grab her. I'll bet they did the same with Tess – only maybe at a lower dose so she could still be on her feet."

J.T. took off his glasses and ran one hand tiredly over his face. So the Martins were holed up with Tess in a twenty story building with guards and plenty of cameras. Vincent could Beast-out and smash his way in, but there was a good chance that someone would see him do it. And if Billy Martin Beasted-out also, the result would be a big Beast-fight with witnesses. It was probably why the Martins had selected the building in the first place - to take Beast-strength out of the equation.

"So, what now?" he asked. "We can't just stand here and do nothing. At some point tomorrow morning they're expecting me to deliver a cure that I don't have."

"No," Catherine agreed. "We can't do nothing. We need to be able sneak in, without taking the cameras down and drawing a lot of attention." She turned to Queen and gave him a long, steady look. "I'm going to guess that your breaking and entering skills are better than ours. Do you think you could get into the building without the guards noticing?"

J.T. stared at her, his brow furrowing in confusion. _Cat must be losing her mind_ , he thought. Why on earth would Queen have breaking and entering skills? The man was a bazillionaire. He'd had everything he ever wanted handed to him.

The feeling of being in the dark rushed back, stronger than ever.

Queen gazed back at Cat. He seemed to be weighing some kind of decision. He raised an eyebrow at Diggle and Felicity, and eventually cast a short, sideways glance at J.T. "I'd feel better about my chances if I had my bow," he said quietly.

 _His bow?_ _WTF? Talk about a non sequitur_ , J.T. thought. _  
_

To the rest of them, however, Queen's statement seemed to make perfect sense. Diggle, Felicity and Cat all nodded, and Vincent was quiet on the other end of phone. J.T. felt as though he'd walked into the second hour of a movie. Someone needed to fill him in on the first hour.

He held up both hands. "All right," he said, "I've had enough with the mystery. What the hell aren't you all telling me? And don't say _nothing_ , because I'll know you're lying."

There was more exchanging of glances, and finally everyone ended up staring at Queen. He looked at Felicity and Diggle, and then shrugged. "I'm The Arrow," he said to J.T. "That's what everyone isn't telling you."

J.T. gave a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, right. Very funny."

Diggle studied J.T. for a few seconds, then leaned forward and placed a hand sympathetically on his shoulder. "It's not a joke," he said. "Oliver really is The Arrow – Starling City's vigilante. Felicity and I work with him."

He was serious. J.T. could see that right away. And more importantly, Cat was looking at Queen seriously, too.

Still, J.T. wasn't sure if he was ready to buy it. He reran the facts in his head.  Queen certainly looked athletic enough.  He was muscular and agile, and thinking back on it, he could be pretty damn stealthy too. He'd managed to break into J.T.'s house and find his way to Felicity's room last night.  And then there was that perfectly placed roundhouse kick that he'd delivered to Felicity's potential abductor...

"You're The Arrow," he repeated to Queen, half as a question, half as a statement. "The guy who's been nabbing criminals in Starling City for the last couple of years?"

Queen nodded.

J.T. turned to Cat. "You knew?" he asked her.

She gave him a small smile. "Oliver told Vincent and I last night. It's too long of a story to get into now, but suffice it to say that he and Vincent traded secrets."

There was a small crackle of static over the phone as Vincent added, "I hope that helps explain why I told Oliver about being a Beast, J.T. He's got his own alter-ego that he needs to protect."

A dozen questions popped into J.T.'s mind. He wanted to know why Queen, who wanted for nothing, decided to risk his safety and even his life for his city. He wanted to know how Diggle and Felicity had become involved. But most importantly, he wanted to know if Queen thought he could break into the Velograph building without being detected. Because that was what mattered right now.

"If we got you a bow, you think you might be able to get in?" he asked Queen.

Queen exhaled. "I'd like Felicity to scope out the building a little more but, yes, there's a chance I could get in." He glanced at the clock. "It's 9:00 at night though," he said. "Where do you think we can find a bow at this hour?"

J.T. grinned. It was the first time he'd felt any sense of optimism all evening. "This is New York, Oliver. The city that never sleeps? We'll get you a bow."


	20. Chapter 20

Oliver stared at the bow.

It wasn't at all what he was used to. It was a compound bow, popular with hunters for its ability to generate force with less effort from the archer. It looked ungainly to him, with its pulleys and cables, and he had a feeling it was going to be awkward strapped to his back. He could see Diggle eyeing it and suspected he was thinking the same thing.

On the other hand, it was midnight on a Saturday and he was three thousand miles from Starling, so the fact that he was standing in J.T.'s living room even looking at a bow was something of a miracle. Despite J.T.'s brave words about New York being the city that never sleeps, they hadn't been able to find a sporting goods store open after ten pm. They'd briefly debated breaking into one, but then Catherine had come up with an alternate plan.

She'd called a fellow detective who hunted, and had given him a surprisingly convincing story about a cousin visiting from the west coast who just _had_ to go shooting in upstate New York on Sunday. The detective had agreed to lend her his bow, but only after he'd spent a good ten minutes flirting with her. It had been clear that he'd like to get to know Catherine better - a _lot_ better. Oliver had almost cringed when he'd listened to the guy; the detective reminded him of himself when he was younger and determined to get into a girl's pants.

Fortunately, Keller had not been there to hear it. He was keeping watch outside the Velograph building in case the Martin brothers decided to move Tess. Oliver believed the doctor was a level-headed guy (at least when not Beasted-out), but hearing some sleaze ball hit on your girlfriend could be pretty hard to take. If someone had spoken to Felicity that way, Oliver would have been tempted to rearrange a few body parts. Not that Felicity was his girlfriend, of course.

At any rate, Catherine had managed the detective just fine on her own. Keeping Keller's secret over the years had evidently given her a talent for the half-truth because she'd strung her colleague along masterfully, giving him encouragement but never committing. Oliver wondered how she felt about that, given that she was basically an honest woman. He also wondered – with a twinge of guilt - whether he was encouraging Felicity to develop that same skill for the half-truth by keeping her as a part of Team Arrow.

"Well?" J.T. asked him, as he studied the bow.

Oliver sighed and looked at the telescopic sight that he didn't need. "It wouldn't have been my first choice," he said. Then he shrugged. "At least it's not a crossbow."

He glanced at Felicity for her reaction, but she was busy at the computer, studying the specs for the Velograph building.

"Do you think it will work?" J.T. persisted.

Oliver picked up the bow and held it as if he were about to shoot. It was light, despite the extra cables and hardware. He recalled that compound bows were prone to twisting, particularly for an archer who wasn't accustomed to the mechanical assist from the pulleys. Twisting could reduce accuracy.

He nocked an arrow and glanced around the room. There was a thin chord holding a lamp that was hung from the ceiling. He took aim at it - and fired.

The arrow sliced neatly through the chord and the lamp crashed to the floor.

It appeared accuracy wasn't going to be a problem. "I guess it'll do the job," he said more positively.

J.T. stared at the broken lamp. "And what job is that, exactly? Destroying my living room?"

It was Digg who answered. "Oliver will go onto the roof of the building next to Velograph – it's got less security so it should be easy for him to get up there. Then he'll shoot an arrow to fix a line between the two buildings, and zipline over and enter Velograph through a window. Felicity's looking at the specs now to see if any of the windows are out of sight of the security cameras."

"Bathrooms are often a good bet," Felicity chimed in. "In older buildings, the windows actually open so it's easier to break in. And companies stay away from surveillance in bathrooms because they're worried about privacy lawsuits."

"You sound like you have a lot of experience with this," Catherine said dryly.

Felicity looked at Oliver and then Digg. "Some," she agreed mildly. She pointed to a spot on her computer screen. "This looks like a good breaking and entering point; top floor of the building, northeast corner. It's a restroom, away from the street."

Oliver and Diggle both nodded. J.T., on the other hand, appeared concerned.

"And then what?" he asked Oliver. "You manage to get into the building and-"

"And I try to find Tess," Oliver finished. "Hopefully without drawing a lot of attention. And after I find her - I get out."

J.T. threw up his hands. "You make it sound so simple," he said, "but we all know it won't be. What if Security spots you? What if the Martin brothers are guarding Tess? What if Billy Beasts-out? There's a dozen things that can go wrong."

Oliver frowned, confused. "I thought you were in favor of trying to rescue Tess. You seemed to like the idea a couple of hours ago. Have you changed your mind?"

J.T. shook his head. "Of course I want to rescue her. But I thought we'd have more of a plan. It feels like we're flying by the seat of our pants here."

Oliver looked at Catherine, hoping she would know what to say. J.T. was her friend; she must have plenty of practice dealing with his nerves.

It was Felicity, however, who answered. "Oliver will cover his face," she replied matter-of-factly. "And I think I can take down the security cameras one floor at a time rather than all at once. With any luck, the guards are half asleep and won't even notice."

"And if Billy Martin is waiting and Beasts-out?"

Felicity pressed her lips together and didn't say anything.

"Vincent will go with Oliver," Catherine said. "If Billy Beasts-out, then Vincent will be there to make sure he doesn't kill anyone."

Oliver looked over at her and frowned. He hadn't planned on bringing a civilian. If it looked like backup was needed, he would much prefer Digg.

But Felicity was nodding at Catherine. "That's a good idea," she agreed. "Vincent can handle Billy. And he's already waiting at the Velograph building."

Oliver felt a flash of irritation, similar to the one he'd felt on the night of Martin's hospital benefit. He was reminded that Felicity had only known Keller for five days, yet seemed to have absolute confidence in him. It bothered him that she was so quick to trust a stranger – who happened to be a good-looking guy.

"Felicity-" he began.

She didn't let him finish. "Oliver, if Billy Martin Beasts-out you're going to need a Beast on your side to fight him. It makes perfect sense."

Oliver looked at the bow and thought, _not if I've got a bow with me_.

She followed his glance and shook her head. "You're especially going to need Vincent because you're _not_ going to arrow Billy."

"I'm not?"

"No. It's not his fault he's a Beast. Someone made him that way. He just wants it to stop."

It was a very Felicity-thing to say. Oliver stared at her and she stared back. She looked pretty defiant.

J.T. cleared his throat. "Just a small clarification, Oliver; if you _do_ shoot him, you're going to have to shoot to kill. If you wound him, you're only going to make him angrier. Beasts are kind of like The Hulk that way."

Oliver studied J.T.'s expression to see if he was joking. It didn't appear so. On the other hand, J.T. didn't look totally broken up at the notion of Oliver shooting Billy. If it got Tess out of there safely, Oliver figured J.T. might look past the moral ambiguities.

Still…the last thing Oliver wanted to do was kill someone.

He sighed. "Fine. I won't arrow Billy – unless it's a matter of life or death."

"It won't come to that."

It was Catherine who had spoken. They all turned to her.

"Here's what we're going to do," she said, sounding crisp and businesslike. "J.T. – I assume you still have the ingredients from the last time and can mix up a little of your tranquilizer?" When he nodded, she continued, "Great; do that, and then fix the tranq to a couple of arrows for Oliver. That way he can shoot Billy, if necessary, without killing him."

Oliver's eyebrows went up. _The last time?_ Had they done battle with _another_ Beast? Or had they needed the tranquilizer for Vincent?

J.T. nodded again and headed for the bar in the corner of the large living room. He pulled out several vials of liquid and started measuring.

"Oliver," Catherine went on, "you and Vincent will go onto the roof of the building next to Velograph and zipline to the window. Felicity will remain here and take the security cameras down as needed."

It was Oliver's turn to nod.

"And Digg," Catherine said, "I think you and I should stay at street level outside the Velograph building in case Oliver and Vincent trip any kind of alarm. That way, if somebody shows up, we can stall them."

"Sounds good," Diggle replied.

Catherine smiled. "Great. I think we're all on the same page." She glanced at J.T. "Does that sound more like a plan to you, now?" she asked. "Are you feeling any better?"

J.T. rolled his eyes. "I guess I can live with it," he replied sourly.

"Good. Then, let's get to work."

J.T. went back to mixing the tranquilizer while Felicity resumed studying the Velograph specs on the computer. Catherine Chandler was a force to be reckoned with, Oliver realized, in spite of her small size and soft voice. He wondered if it came to her naturally, or if her time as a detective had made her such a leader.

He looked up to find Digg regarding him with an amused expression. He seemed to be saying, _How does it feel having someone else in charge?_ Oliver frowned at Digg and refused to acknowledge the question. Instead, he moved to stand behind Felicity's chair and examine the Velograph blueprints over her shoulder.

"Show me again where you think we should go in?" he said.

She pointed to the blueprint. "This is the street side here," she explained, tracing a series of lines with her finger. "I would stay away from this part of the building – there's too much light and you'll be easy to spot. You want to go in one of the windows at the back. The restroom I mentioned earlier is here." She indicated a corner of the building, away from the street.

Oliver leaned forward to get a closer look, resting one hand on her shoulder and placing his head close to hers. It was a familiar position; he'd stood like this many times back in Starling when they were preparing for a mission. She glanced down at his hand and then up at his face, and smiled slightly. He felt a jolt as he remembered that he'd kissed that smile earlier in the day. A small kiss during an unromantic conversation about ketchup, but a kiss nonetheless.

And suddenly, his hand on her shoulder seemed to have a whole other meaning. What was it the damn Coney Island fortune-teller had said? _Your joint life-force is strong_? _Your lives will always be entwined?_ After waking up with Felicity, spending most of the day alone with her and finally kissing her, the familiar contact they'd shared dozens of times now felt too intimate and kind of like a promise. And he didn't think he was ready for promises.

So he did what he often did in uncomfortable moments; he focused on the mission. He turned his gaze back to the computer, removed his hand from her shoulder, and took a step away from her chair.

Felicity flushed and gave him a confused look, but said nothing. After a moment, she apparently decided to take her cue from him and get back to business. She pointed once more to the drawing of the building. "The window for the twentieth floor bathroom is here," she said, tracing another set of lines with her finger. "And I think the closest security camera is here." She moved her finger to a spot a respectable distance away. "So, I don't think anyone will see you come in. You can let me know once you and Vincent are in the bathroom, and then I'll start taking the security cameras offline."

Digg stepped beside Oliver and looked down at the computer. "Where do you think Cat and I should station ourselves?" he asked.

Oliver leaned forward to study the drawing once more. He almost placed his hand on Felicity's shoulder again, because – _dammit_ – it felt like the natural thing to do, but he caught himself in time. "There are alleys on either side of the building. I think you should each take one. Stand near the street, but enough in the shadows so that you won't easily be seen."

"Sounds good."

"We've still got the communication links from Martin's ball," Catherine added. "So we can stay in touch."

Oliver smiled. "Great." He glanced over toward the bar. "How's the tranquilizer coming?" he called out to J.T.

J.T. held up a test tube of clear liquid. "All set. Just getting it into a syringe so you can attach it to an arrow."

"Great," Oliver said again.

The room went quiet as they looked at one another.

After a moment, Catherine started pulling on her jacket. "Let's go get Tess," she said.

* * *

Catherine, Digg and Oliver stepped out of J.T.'s house, closing the door behind them. It was a little after one in the morning and there was a chill in the air that had been missing during the day. Catherine had lent Oliver one of Vincent's hoodies (requisite apparel for all men protecting secret identities, apparently) and he zipped it up, grateful for the warmth.

"Let's turn on our comm links now," he suggested to Cat and Digg. "That way we can let Felicity and J.T. know if we see anything unusual on our way to Velograph." And without waiting for their assent, he reached up to place the bud in his ear.

Diggle stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"In a second," Digg said. The tone of his voice made it sound like an order.

Oliver frowned and then exhaled impatiently. "I thought we were good to go. Did you just think of a problem with the plan?"

Digg shook his head. "The plan's fine. I stopped you because I want to make sure your head is in the game – yours and Felicity's."

Oliver gave him his best annoyed look. "Excuse me?"

Digg shrugged, unfazed. "You and Felicity were both acting a little weird at the computer, Oliver. Neither one of you seemed like yourself. That has me worried, especially given that we're going up against some strong opposition. Did something happen during the day?"

_Did something happen during the day?_ How the hell was Oliver supposed to answer that question - honestly? Should he tell Digg that both nothing and everything happened? Should he tell him about fortune-tellers and ketchup? He decided it didn't matter, because they didn't have time. They were supposed to be saving Tess.

"Felicity and I are fine," he replied shortly. "I can tell you about our day later. Right now, we need to get to Velograph." He glanced at Catherine, expecting to see her agree with him. They were rescuing her best friend, after all. But she was regarding him with a curious expression very similar to Diggle's.

"You should tell me about it _now_ , if it's going to interfere with the mission," Digg said evenly. He followed the direction of Oliver's glance. "Are you worried about saying something in front of Cat? Because you shouldn't be. With all the secret sharing we've done this week, she's practically family."

_Maybe_ , Oliver thought. But there were secrets and then there were _secrets_. "Digg-" he began.

"You kissed her, didn't you?" Catherine said suddenly.

Oliver nearly dropped his earbud. "What?"

"I said, _you kissed Felicity_ ," she repeated. "You have the telltale look."

Diggle stopped staring at Oliver and turned to Catherine. "The telltale look?"

"Yeah, you know. The - _this changes everything between us -_ look. The - _omigod it was just one little kiss but now it feels like a commitment-_ look." She waved one hand. "Believe me, women everywhere are familiar with that look. If I weren't so worried about Tess I would have recognized it sooner."

Diggle shook his head skeptically. "Knowing Oliver," he said to Catherine, "I don't think-"

"Okay, fine," Oliver interrupted impatiently. They needed to get moving. "I kissed Felicity. It was one small kiss and it doesn't mean our heads aren't in the game."

Digg's jaw dropped. "You kissed her? Seriously, Oliver?"

"Do you have a problem with that, Digg?"

Digg grimaced. "I'm not sure. To be honest, I'm kind of torn between _it's about time_ and _what the fuck were you thinking._ "

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Well, it's not like I knew we were going to have a mission tonight. Felicity and I were on the beach at Coney Island having hot dogs and fries. She had this spot of ketchup on her face and I just leaned forward and…" He paused as he noted that both Catherine and Digg were starting to grin. " _Anyway_ …it was a small kiss and no big deal – and she knows that…we _both_ know that. And whatever look you think I have," he added to Catherine, "I don't have it."

She nodded seriously. "Right."

Digg looked at Catherine and shrugged. "Well, if he's kissed her, we're not going to resolve that one in the next few minutes. We may as well go to Velograph and hope for the best."

"Right," she repeated.

* * *

As expected, security in the building next to Velograph was nonexistent. There was a flimsy lock on the door and a single camera, which Oliver shot out with an arrow. The building appeared to contain rental office space for budding entrepreneurs who needed wireless internet access, a phone and printers for their one-person businesses. The first floor held dozens of cubicles, some bare, others decorated with enough bling to make Oliver wonder how its owner found a place to work. In the wee hours of a Sunday morning, the cubicles were empty. Apparently no one was so committed to his business that he was willing to work around the clock.

Oliver and Vincent pulled their hoods over their heads and opted to use the stairs, figuring the elevators had cameras for maintenance, if not for security. The building was twenty-two stories. As he followed Keller past the halfway point, Oliver tried to ignore the fact that the doctor wasn't breathing hard. Maybe being a Beast gave Keller extra cardiovascular capacity, he thought. He decided to turn his comm link off. No one was talking at the moment and he didn't want Felicity to compare his heavy breathing to Keller's silence. Not to mention that Digg was probably getting a chuckle out of it as well.

They emerged onto the roof and walked toward the side of the building adjacent to Velograph. Oliver removed the bow from his back and began doublechecking the arrow holding the zipline. Keller watched him with interest, but didn't ask any questions. After a minute, he reached up and turned _his_ comm link off.

Evidently, the man had something he wanted to say – not unusual before a mission. Oliver stopped fiddling with the equipment, turned to Keller and waited.

"I heard you kissed Felicity," Vincent said conversationally.

"What?" Oliver had been expecting a speech about treating Billy Martin with kindness, something along of the lines of Felicity's, _it's not his fault he's a Beast_. He didn't think he was going to have to talk about the kiss; he was surprised Keller even knew about it. Vincent and Catherine had exchanged less than a dozen words when they met on the street a short while ago, but it seemed Catherine had found time to fill her boyfriend in. "Shouldn't we be focused on the mission?" he added.

"Sure – in a minute," Vincent agreed. He grinned briefly. "The kiss is a good thing," he continued, as if they were long-time pals. "It lets her know that you don't have her in the friend zone. The trick now is not to let it get all weird."

"I think it's a little late for that," Oliver replied. "It already feels weird. And I'm afraid that if things don't work out, we won't be able to go back." He was surprised by his answer. He should be telling Vincent that this was none of his business. Instead, he was actually confiding in the man. It felt kind of good.

Vincent shrugged philosophically. "Chances are, you weren't going to be able to keep her in the friend zone forever, anyway," he said. "At some point the two of you were going to have to figure things out."

Oliver sighed. "Maybe, but-"

There was a crackle of static in his ear. "Oliver? Vincent? Is everything all right?"

Speaking of Felicity. Her voice sounded loud and anxious over the comms.

Oliver smiled wryly at Vincent and the man shrugged as if to say, _we can talk more later_. Oliver turned his comm link back on. "We're fine, Felicity. We're on the roof of the building next to Velograph. I was just getting ready to set up the zipline."

"Well, maybe you could talk a little while you do it? I worry when I don't hear anything for a long period of time."

Oliver heard chuckles from multiple voices over the comms.

"Will do," he agreed.

He picked up the bow and nocked the arrow with the line attached to it. He stepped nearer the edge of the roof, took aim…and then narrowed his eyes and lowered the bow, letting his arm fall back to his side.

"Felicity – which window are we going in again?" he asked.

"The closest one to the corner. It's a bathroom."

"Yeah, that's the one I thought we were going for. Can you look up the dimensions?"

"The dimensions? Of the window? " She sounded puzzled by the question. "Sure. It's forty inches tall by…oh. Oh shit." Her voice fell flat.

Oliver smiled grimly. "How many inches in _oh shit_?"

She exhaled loudly in his ear. "Ten. It's ten inches wide. Why didn't I notice that before? It's one of those damn windows that cranks inward."

Oliver nodded. "Yeah, I was thinking it looks pretty small." He turned to Vincent. "Think you can fit through ten inches?"

Vincent shook his head. "No way in hell."

"Me either." Oliver stared at the side of the Velograph building. "We're going to need a different window, Felicity."

"Okay, let me see what I can find."

Oliver listened as her fingers tapped rapidly on the computer keyboard. After a minute, she said, "Looking at the video footage, I'm pretty sure there are alarms on every non-bathroom window in the building. The alarms aren't connected to anything, but they'll make a godawful noise if you open any of the windows. The bathroom windows are the only ones that don't have alarms."

"Well, now we know why," Oliver said dryly. "No one can fit through them." He pushed his hood off of his head, wanting to feel the cool air on his face. "And you can't shut the alarms down from J.T's?" he asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"No, Oliver." She sounded frustrated. "I told you, they're not connected to anything. They're the old alarms, where a piece on the window lines up with a piece on the wall. Once you move the window, you break the alignment of the two pieces and the alarm goes off."

"Right – got it. So we need to find another way in."

There were a few seconds of silence.

"I told you we were flying by the seat of our pants." J.T.'s voice piped up suddenly. "But you all thought I was a being a Nervous Nellie. Now we're stuck."

Vincent rubbed his face with his hand. "You're not helping, J.T."

"Someday you all are going to learn to appreciate my instincts – especially you, Vincent. My so-called nerves helped you stay hidden for years when Muirfield was hunting you."

Vincent sighed. "And I appreciate that, J.T., I really do. But at this moment, we need suggestions. Do you have any?"

More silence.

Then there was a small crackle over the comms. "I think I can fit through the window."

Vincent straightened up. "What?" he asked tensely.

It had been Catherine's voice. "I think I can fit through the bathroom window," she said again. "Then, once I'm in, I can go to a bigger window and turn off the alarm. If worst comes to worst, I can remove it. Usually those old alarms are just screwed on."

Oliver and Vincent looked at one another.

"Felicity?" Oliver asked.

"That might work," she said slowly. "There's probably an on/off switch somewhere on the thing."

"And I've got a utility knife in my pocket," Diggle added helpfully. "It'll have something you can use as a screwdriver if you need to take it off."

Oliver and Vincent looked at one another. Then Vincent walked to the edge of the roof and studied the side of the Velograph building. Oliver could see that he wasn't crazy about the idea of sending his girlfriend along a zipline twenty floors above the street.

"Are you _sure_ you can fit through the window, Catherine?" Vincent asked at last. "Because if you zipline over and can't get in, you're going to be left hanging. Twenty floors may not sound like a lot, but believe me, it's a long way down."

"I'll fit," she said confidently. "I haven't had pizza in a couple of weeks." She paused. "And it's for Tess," she added.

"Well, I don't like the idea," Vincent said, "but I don't have a better suggestion. Just promise me that if you get in and see Billy Martin, you'll trip an alarm right away and won't try to handle him yourself."

"It's a deal."

* * *

It turned out Catherine fit easily through the window – there was never a question. After one nervous glance at the ground twenty stories below, she'd taken a deep breath and ziplined to the window. Then she'd pushed it in and slid into the Velograph building as gracefully as a …well, as a Cat. Oliver had been impressed.

"Okay, I'm in," she breathed into the comms. "Now what?"

"See if you can open the window next to the one you went in," Oliver suggested. "That way we can use the same zipline."

"Okay."

"Hang on," Felicity's voice interrupted. "I'm about to shut off the security cameras on your floor. Once I do, you should move quickly. The longer I leave them down, the more likely someone will notice."

"Got it," Catherine confirmed.

"Then I'm shutting the cameras down in three…two…one."

The comm links went quiet.

In less than a minute, Catherine's voice was back on. "I'm at the window next to the bathroom and I was able to turn the alarm off. I'm opening the window now."

"Good work," Oliver replied. "We're on our way." He turned to Vincent and gestured at the line. "After you."

Vincent didn't hesitate; Oliver figured he was anxious to be at Catherine's side. The doctor took hold of the line and slid easily down to the Velograph building, as if he did that sort of thing all the time. Then he swayed and shimmied his way through the window Catherine had opened.

Oliver followed. The whole thing had taken less than three minutes.

"We're in," he said to Felicity, "and we're about the check the twentieth floor." He turned once more to Vincent. "What are your senses telling you?"

The doctor closed his eyes briefly. "I'm still sensing that she's somewhere in this building," he said, "but I don't know exactly where."

Oliver nodded. "We may as well go floor by floor, then. Digg – anything happening on the street?"

"It's quiet on the street," Diggle replied, "but I can't tell you if there's anything going on in the alley behind the building. I can only cover one side at a time."

"The street side's the one I'm worried about."

"It looks okay."

"Good. We're going to start searching, then."

Oliver, Vincent and Catherine stepped out of the room they'd ziplined into and began moving methodically down the hall, opening doors as they went. The rooms were either empty or appeared to serve as storage for old office furniture and equipment. The layers of dust suggested that no one had been up here for a while, including a cleaning crew. There was no sign of Tess or the Martin brothers.

When they'd finished searching the floor, he said to Felicity, "Nothing on the twentieth. We're heading down to the nineteenth floor now."

"Okay. Shutting down the cameras on nineteen and turning them back on for twenty."

The nineteenth floor looked pretty much the same as the twentieth; lots of dust and no Tess.

They repeated the process for three more floors. Oliver was beginning to get worried. Something about the situation felt wrong. The Martins should have wanted to keep Tess in an unpopulated part of the building – the twentieth or nineteenths floors would have been perfect. Instead, they were getting into territory that looked like it received more employee traffic, and was therefore less ideal for holding a hostage. As they stepped out onto the fifteenth floor, he started to wonder if Tess was in the building at all.

"Would your senses indicate that she's in the building even if she'd been moved recently?" he asked Vincent.

"Maybe," the doctor acknowledged. "It depends on how recently." He pushed open a door and peered into the room. "Except they didn't move her. She's here."

Oliver and Catherine hurried to the doorway and stared into the room. Sure enough, Tess was there, lying unconscious on a mattress on the floor, with her hands bound behind her back. Catherine moved as if to rush to her side, but Vincent clutched her arm to stop her.

"Hang on," he warned. "The Martins might be lying in wait somewhere. I'm still picking up Billy's scent."

She nodded and allowed Vincent to move cautiously into the room ahead of her. Then she and Oliver followed.

The room was empty, except for Tess.

Vincent knelt beside her and felt her pulse. "Her heartbeat is good," he said. "Steady and strong. I think they drugged her – probably with the same stuff they gave Felicity."

"Then let's get her out of here and back to J.T.'s," Catherine said, "before the Martin brothers come back. They're probably somewhere in the building."

Vincent reached out and began to pull Tess into his arms.

"Wait!" Oliver said sharply. The thing that had felt wrong about the situation had suddenly come into focus.

Vincent stopped and turned to Oliver with a perplexed look on his face.

"I think it's a trap," Oliver explained.

Catherine frowned. "A trap?"

Oliver nodded. "Yes." When she didn't say anything, he continued, "Think about it. Why did the Martins say they kidnapped Tess?"

Catherine's brow furrowed. "To exchange her for a Beast cure."

Oliver nodded again. "Exactly. And if they think she's their ticket to a cure, then why would they leave her alone, even for five minutes? They had to guess we'd come after her." Catherine's eyes narrowed. "And why didn't they keep her on the twentieth floor, where no one ever goes?" he continued. "She's in an area here where the employees are eventually going to find her, if we didn't."

He could see her running through the facts with her detective's mind. She glanced at Tess's unconscious form and then shrugged. "I agree, it doesn't make sense. But why do you think it's a trap?"

"I think they want someone to find her," Oliver went on, "and I think they want to create a disturbance, especially if we're here. Because if security and the police are called, it ties us up and it buys them time."

"Time for what?" It was Vincent who asked the question.

Oliver could feel the panic rising in his gut as he said the words out loud. "Who are the two people the Martin brothers have wanted all along?" he asked.

Vincent glanced at Catherine. "They wanted Felicity and J.T. Felicity for her hacking skills, and J.T. because they thought he could develop a cure."

Oliver ran his hand over his face. "And who are the two people we left alone and unprotected while we came over here to rescue Tess?"

The three of them stared at one another.

"Oh hell," Catherine said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to let this one go unfinished -- my guess is there are about 3 more chapters left to go. Thanks a million to folks who continue to follow and ask about the story.


	21. Chapter 21

"Felicity?" Oliver said into his comm link. "J.T.?"

There was no reply - just an empty, electronic hiss in his ear.

Oliver felt a rising sense of panic. He was sure his expression mirrored the look of alarm he saw on Catherine's and Vincent's faces. A few minutes ago they'd been talking with Felicity over the comms. Now, neither she nor J.T. was answering. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to get back to J.T.'s house but he remained motionless, knowing he had to be smart. The Martin brothers had been one step ahead of them this whole time, and he suspected that if he, Vincent and Catherine grabbed Tess and ran, they would set off some kind of alarm. Then they could be tied up in the Velograph building for hours, explaining themselves to the police.

"Digg?" he said, hoping his friend's comm link hadn't gone silent as well.

To Oliver's relief, Digg responded, "Yeah, I'm here, Oliver – in the alley by the front of the building."

"Did you see the Martins leave?"

"Nope. If they left while we were here, they must have gone out the back."

Oliver gritted his teeth. "So we don't know how long they've been gone, then."

There was a short pause. Then Digg replied, "No…but given the silence on the comms, I'm guessing they've made it to J.T.'s house by now. Otherwise, we'd still be hearing from Felicity." His voice was matter-of-fact but Oliver could hear the fear lurking below the surface.

Oliver's stomach clenched. "Yes, I'm sure they've made it to J.T.'s," he said. "The question is whether they're _still_ there, or if they've already taken Felicity and J.T. and left." He tried to recall when he'd last heard Felicity's voice. Had it been five minutes - or as long as ten or even fifteen? "If they're still there, we have a chance to stop them. Otherwise, God knows where they'll take them." He hesitated. "The good news is that they want Felicity and J.T. alive. They're no use to them if they're hurt." He wasn't sure who he was trying to reassure with that last statement – himself or Diggle. Probably both.

There was another pause. Then Digg said, "That's true. Look, Oliver, there's no point in me standing watch out here any longer. I'll head to J.T.'s now. Maybe I can get there in time to help Felicity. You guys do what you need to do to get Tess out of there without getting caught, and then join me."

It was a brave, but somewhat dubious suggestion. Diggle had no weapon. The best he could do if he caught Billy Martin at J.T.'s was try to talk him out of taking Felicity. As skilled as he was in hand-to-hand combat, he was no match for a Beast.

On the other hand, Oliver thought, they didn't exactly have a ton of options. Without Felicity to manage the security cameras, there was a good chance that he, Vincent and Catherine would be detected the moment they tried to take the elevator or go down the stairs. And he'd used up all their cable zip-lining over from the roof of the building next to Velograph; there was nothing left for reversing the process. But Diggle was already outside, safe from observation. He could be on his way to Felicity right now. Plus, Digg _was_ a pretty good negotiator. He'd managed to get Oliver to change his mind on a few occasions. Maybe he could get through to the Martins.

"Okay," Oliver said to him. "Go – we'll catch up to you as soon as we can."

"Right," Digg replied. "I'm heading out."

"Digg – hang on a minute."

The statement – almost an order – came from Vincent. Oliver turned quickly to glare at the doctor. They'd already wasted enough time talking. There was no point discussing this further.

Vincent met Oliver's angry stare and held up a hand. "I think _I_ should be the one to go, not Digg" he said. "It makes more sense. If I Beast-out now, I can get there faster than any of you. And I have the best chance of handling Billy Martin."

"Maybe," Oliver replied. "But you also need to get out of here without setting off any alarms. We don't have Felicity to manage the cameras any longer. They're turned off for the fifteenth floor, but they're still on for every other floor. Digg is already outside – there's less risk of him alerting security."

Vincent shook his head. "Getting out won't be a problem for me. I can jump out the window – no need to worry about the cameras on the other floors." Seeing Oliver's incredulous look, he added, "It's only fifteen stories. Believe me, I've jumped from higher."

Oliver glanced at Catherine, expecting to hear her protest, but instead found her nodding in agreement.

"It's a good idea," she said to Vincent. "You go to J.T.'s, and Oliver and I can work at getting Tess out of here."

Oliver felt his chest tighten as he tried to find a reasonable objection to the plan. For all that he was growing to respect and maybe even like Vincent, he felt that he or Digg should be the one to go after Felicity. The doctor was a good man but he barely knew her, while for Oliver and Diggle, she was his…their…girl. He was pretty confident he could handle Billy Martin on his own. He had the arrows with the tranquilizer, after all. He could shoot first and ask questions later, when he knew Felicity was safe and he was able to pull her into a tight hug.

But he had to admit that Vincent could get there faster. And speed mattered at this moment. _Plus_ , he reminded himself, _Vincent also has a friend in danger_. _He's worried, too._

"Fine," he said shortly. "You go, Vincent, and the rest of us will follow as soon as we can get out of here with Tess."

"Right." Vincent stepped to the window, found the electronic lock, and shut it off. He turned to look at them, the transformation to Beast already beginning. "I think there's some kind of pressure sensor under there," he said, pointing to the mattress that the still-unconscious Tess was lying on. "If you lift her, an alarm is probably going to go off. You'll need to replace her weight with something."

Oliver and Catherine both nodded.

"Okay. I'll see you in a bit." Vincent opened the window and scanned for activity outside the building. "Looks clear," he said. And then he jumped.

Oliver moved quickly to the window, just in time to see Vincent land easily on his feet in the alley. The doctor didn't waste any time breaking into a run, and was gone in seconds.

* * *

Felicity turned the security cameras off for the fifteenth floor of the Velograph building and turned them back on for the sixteenth. So far, so good; Oliver, Catherine and Vincent hadn't been spotted. The fact that it was after three a.m. on a Sunday morning probably didn't hurt. The guards were most likely half asleep. She, on the other hand, was wide awake, despite the early hour and a general lack of slumber over the last week. There was something about running a mission that energized her. Sitting in front of a computer and hacking into security systems felt like home.

If only J.T. would stop his nervous pacing. One minute he was leaning over her shoulder, staring at the monitor. The next, he was circling the large living room. It was distracting.

She muted their comm links. The rest of the team didn't need to hear this. "J.T.," she said sharply, "would you stand still for two minutes? It's hard to focus with you running all around the room."

J.T. stopped behind the large wooden counter that served as a storage area, snack bar and makeshift lab. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "It's hard to listen and do nothing while your friends are in the middle of something dangerous. Is this what it's like for you when Oliver's out as The Arrow?" When Felicity shrugged, he continued, "I don't know how you stand it."

Felicity sighed. "You kind of get used to-"

_**BAM!** _

She leapt out of her chair. "What the hell was that?" she asked J.T. "What did you just do?"

He raised his hands. "Nothing, I swear it."

Felicity stared at him. "It sounded like something heavy just fell. Do you think someone-"

"Broke down the door? Yeah, I'm sorry about that. But we needed to get in."

Felicity spun around to see Jeff Martin standing in the entrance to J.T.'s living room. Billy was beside him, in a physical state that was somewhere between man and Beast. His eyes were yellowish and his claws were extended, but he seemed calm and he was looking at his brother as if he understood Jeff's words. _He must have Beasted-out to bust down the door_ , Felicity thought.

"What-" J.T. began.

Jeff held up his hand. "Let's skip the _what are you doing_ _here_ portion of the program," he said. "I'm pretty sure you both know what we want, and I'm also pretty sure your friends are going to figure it out any minute now. We'd like to leave with you before they can get out of Velograph and come back here and make things difficult."

Felicity stepped away from the computer and pulled her chair in front of her in a defensive gesture. It probably wasn't going to do a thing to save her, but for some reason it felt better. "Okay – so we skip the _what_ part of the conversation," she agreed. "But I'd like to understand the _why_. Because none of this makes any sense to me, including taking Tess." _And maybe_ , she thought, _I can_ _buy a little time if I keep you talking. Enough time for the crew to get back here._

But Jeff shook his head. "C'mon, Felicity. I'm pretty sure you understand that one, too. We need to figure out how to fix my brother, and you and Dr. Forbes here," he motioned at J.T., "are the most likely pair of people who can help. He's an expert in biochemistry and you can get into any database in the world. Between the two of you, you should be able to find out what was done to Billy and reverse it. So, we hatched a plan to get you alone and," he hesitated as he chose his words, " _persuade_ you to come with us. Which you should do... _now_."

So much for buying time. Felicity looked at Billy. He had completely transformed back to his human self and was following the discussion closely. She addressed him directly. "Billy – we already talked about this in the basement of your father's house. Vincent told you J.T.'s been trying to cure him for ten years without success. If J.T. really had figured it out, I'm sure he'd be happy to share the cure with you."

She transferred her gaze to J.T., expecting to see him nodding in agreement, and instead found him looking close to complete panic. He was half-standing, half-crouched behind the bar, as if his legs were giving out on him, and his breathing was rapid. She doubted he was going to be of any use helping her talk sense to the Martin brothers. Thank heavens Oliver and the team were listening over the comm links and knew what was going on. They were probably strategizing a rescue right now.

And then she remembered that she had turned the comms off when she'd chastised J.T. for his pacing.

Shit.

She began to quietly edge her way back to the computer.

Billy gave her what could almost be construed as an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Felicity. I know you and Dr. Keller told me that there is no cure. But Jeff and I talked about it, and we figured that Dr. Keller is being cautious. He has a pretty good life; a girlfriend, a job – and he seems to be able to control Beasting-out. He probably isn't willing to risk an experimental cure that could kill him." He glanced sadly at his brother. "But I am. I have no life right now. I can't go out in public because being jostled in a crowd can set me off. Even getting angry or upset can trigger an episode. So I'm ready to try anything, even if it ends up hurting me."

She took another step backward, still closer to the keyboard. "I'm sorry about that Billy," she said sincerely, "I really am. And I truly _want_ to help. But you don't need to kidnap me or J.T. to make that happen. We'll share anything we discover about a cure with you, believe me."

Jeff shook his head. "That's not good enough," he said harshly. "You both have other jobs and you have relationships. Those are distractions. The cure needs to be the _only_ thing you work on, from the moment you get up the morning until you fall asleep at night. Plus, you'll be more motivated to succeed if your freedom is your reward. That's why you need to come with us." He looked at Billy. "Take her," he added, gesturing toward Felicity, "before she can get back on that computer and signal her friends. We've wasted enough time already."

Billy nodded, then stepped forward and grasped Felicity by the upper arm. She immediately tried to pull away from him.

"Don't!" he cautioned her. "If you struggle against me, I'm going to end up Beasting-out, and that won't be good for any of us. It's better if you just come quietly."

Felicity believed him about the Beasting-out, but couldn't stop herself from straining to reach the computer. If she could only get word to Oliver and Digg, she had faith that they would figure out a way to help her. She tugged once more and heard a low growl come from Billy's throat.

"Felicity-" he warned.

She tugged again.

Billy's eyes began to turn yellow and she felt a stab of pain in her arm as claws reemerged from his fingertips. It was clear his transformation back to Beast was underway, and it was truly frightening for her to be this close to it. Looking at his face, she could almost see as reason left him, only to be replaced by pure, predatory instinct. When she'd struggled, she'd figured that the worst thing that could happen was that Billy might grab her and run. She now realized that it was very possible that he would kill her.

She stopped trying to pull away and went still.

Billy, on the other hand, continued to snarl with increasing intensity. His grip tightened on her arm and his face distorted into something that was halfway between human and canine. He stared at her neck as if he were thinking about snapping it.

"Billy – calm down!" Jeff shouted.

The words were good, but she didn't think the shouting part was helping. She forced herself to attempt a calmer tone than Jeff.

"Billy," she said softly, "please. Think about what you're doing. You're a human being who's just a little angry right now. You don't want to kill me."

Billy hesitated and a rational expression flickered across his face. Then he growled once more and it was gone.

"Billy," his brother called again, "Look at me."

Billy ignored him and reached with his free hand toward Felicity's neck.

"Please, Billy," Felicity repeated. "Remember who you are. You're a good guy - you don't want to do this."

There was no recognition in his eyes. It was as if she was trying to explain mathematics to a grizzly bear. His hand made contact with her Adam's apple and he started to squeeze.

"Hey, Billy!" J.T. bellowed suddenly, "Look over here, you motherfucker!"

Billy's head snapped in J.T.'s direction and he pulled his hand away from Felicity's neck, although he maintained his grip on her arm. Felicity had almost forgotten that J.T. was there. She'd figured he'd collapsed behind the protective wall of the bar minutes ago and was cowering for his own safety. But no – here he was, standing up straight and yelling.

And, more than that, he was holding a pistol, pointed directly at Billy. _He must keep it in the bar_ , she thought. _Who'd have thought J.T. would have a gun?_ His hand was shaking a bit, but he appeared resolute.

"I'm sorry, Billy," J.T. said, "but I can't let you kill her."

Jeff's eyes went wide. "Oh no," he cried to J.T. "Please – please don't shoot my brother. There has to be something else we can do."

J.T. shook his head. "I don't have a choice. He's not hearing us. And he could hurt her at any moment – badly. You know that."

Jeff turned back to his brother. " _Billy_ ," he pleaded.

Still no response, other than a loud snarl.

J.T. raised the pistol and steadied it with both hands.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

And then he fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the pace on the updates...but I will finish. We're getting close.


End file.
